Pourquoi Moi?
by littlegreenweirdo123
Summary: It's a simple enough task: Keep King Oberon's daughter alive until she gets married. It's hard for Edmund, though, not because the girl and trouble seem mutually attracted to each other, but because he's not supposed to keep her for himself.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hey guys! I'm back, and rewriting Pourquoi Moi for the second (and I swear, final) time. There are just a few kinks that I feel like I want to work out before I officially decide that this story's complete. For this chapter, I've basically condensed the first three, and added a correction here or there.

* * *

"We will rest here, milady. The horses are tired as well." The soldier held out an umbrella for Serena as she stepped out of the carriage and into the torrential rain.

"It seems we have no choice, corporal." She agreed, accepting his offered hand.

It was warm and dry inside the inn; and a murmur of friendly voices, some drunken, greeted the soldiers they were familiar with.

"Here, here." A burly man wearing a greasy apron hurried to hang Serena's cloak by the fire as he dusted a chair with the rag he clutched in his hands. She sat down gratefully, glad to be away from the loud, rattling cart.

"There's a noble lady dining with us t'night, so mind your manners." The tavern owner announced, gesturing at Serena, or more aptly, her fine silken gown. The men only gave her a momentary glance, deciding that their beer was more important after seeing that she wasn't the fair-haired beauty they had hoped for. A wizened old woman hobbled to her side, leaning on her cane and coughing pitifully.

"Are you alright, Grandmother?" Serena inquired pleasantly, choosing not to take her raggedy clothes or matted gray hair into account.

The old woman waved her question away with a gnarled hand. "Seems like it's all menfolk 'ere."

"A tavern certainly is not the place for women," She agreed, watching as a bar fight flared up in a corner. "especially this one."

"A humble cabin like this one, the King's _salon_, womenfolk don't belong in any of 'em."

Serena, who had ventured inside her father's "rooms" quite a few times agreed. "I'm afraid we must endure them in our travels." She said, trying to force the prospect of leaving home from her mind.

"Traveling, are we?" The woman held out her hand. "Let me see where your journey'll be leading you."

Rather reluctantly, Serena allowed the old woman to examine her palm. "I see a long road ahead, dear one."

"The Marble City and Narnia are quite far apart." She acknowledged.

"No, no, much longer."

Maybe a few detours, then.

"And many years too."

That wasn't too bad.

"You have left home unwillingly, and you are not to return."

Serena felt herself shudder. Leave the palace and its luxury, forever?

"You will wander aimlessly, for years greater than an empire."

That meant thousands.

"And in the end, you-" The old woman gave a hacking cough, and Serena thought she saw something shift in her eyes.

"Ah. Where was I?" She asked, as if she had not just delivered any grave news.

Serena opened her mouth, but no words came.

"Yes, yes." She squinted at her palm again. "I see long life, riches, and a handsome husband for you." She smiled, revealing crooked teeth. "A girl like you, she can't ask for more, can she?"

"Milady, the horses are ready." The corporal held up her cloak.

Serena stood up, feeling a shiver of something run through her body. Fear, uncertainty, and maybe, a little excitement.

The horses continued to plod throughout the night. Up front, the driver held the reins, making sure they trotted at a steady pace.

Inside, Serena crossed her arms, sitting on the floor of the carriage. This was the latest in many times she had been shaken out of her seat by the rattling of the cart just when she was about to fall asleep.

This just wasn't fair.

Being sent away "for her safety" was not one of those things she appreciated her father doing. Never mind that he had sent every suitor packing before she had even met them, or that he had firmly stuck to calling her "dear heart" and "my little dear" in front of diplomats from the world over. This was by far the worst thing he had done in all her sixteen years.

She shivered, the cold March winds blowing through the cracks of the wood making up the side wall of the carriage. Serena tried not to be shaken by the old woman's predictions, yet so far, her announcements of Serena's impending doom weren't helping her spirits in the slightest.

Serena may have fallen asleep then, sitting on the grimy, wet floor of her coach. She wasn't sure. But when she opened her eyes in what seemed like moments later, it was mid-morning.

Suddenly, the horses lurched to a stop. A medium-sized trunk stowed in the coach's upper shelf fell off, landing squarely on Serena's outstretched foot. She bit back a cry of pain, but she heard a few anyway, along with the clang of metal against metal.

They certainly weren't hers.

"Keep on movin' man!" Someone shouted at the driver. "Or you'll end up like th' lot of em'."

Just as suddenly as it stopped, the carriage began to move so quickly, Serena feared the wheels would break off. Ignoring the pain in her foot, she pressed herself tighter against the corner of the carriage. She closed her eyes, and after a moment's deliberation, peered outside the back window. Behind her, what looked to be half her escort chased after them, yelling for the driver to stop.

"Go, go, GO!" The same voice howled, "If you let 'em catch up, both you and th' rest o' your lot are dead!"

Serena knew far too well what was happening, even though her brain raced to find a logical, _normal_ answer.

This wasn't part of her itinerary.

* * *

Edmund yawned heavily as he stretched in his chair. He had been down in Beruna, overseeing the beginning of another harvest. In the meanwhile, Peter had been given the keys to the royal treasury, and as far as Edmund was concerned, their finances were a mess. Nevermind that he had returned much of the unneeded goods to the grumbling merchants waiting by the docks, or that he had argued and haggled with the bakers over every loaf of bread that Peter and company had ordered, his brother's spending had created a large dip in their funds.

Nevermind that he was a King, and that Kings had no place in regulating the castle's finances. Edmund was quite sure that he was the steward, and Peter was the King.

He crossed out some numbers in the ledger, and wrote in the new sums. Edmund was quite sure that after all the work he had done, the treasury would stay balanced for at least the next month.

Right on cue, the door burst open.

"Forgot to tell you about the royal messenger." Peter announced nonchalantly.

"Which one," Edmund asked absently, going back to his work. "We employ over twenty."

"The one that King Oberon sent."

"Oberon?" Edmund repeated, still scribbling numbers into his ledger.

"Yeah. From Sarra."

Edmund snorted. "You mean _Satarra_. Honestly, Peter. Do you not know how to read maps?"

"Yeah, Satarra." Peter said, ignoring Edmund's snide remark. "He said his daughter'd be coming for a while."

"What?" The dot on Edmund's "i" became a hyphen. "When? Why?"

"Er, didn't say why, just seventeenth of March."

He consulted the star chart hanging on the wall. "That's tomorrow." He yelped.

"Yeah."

There was an awkward pause as Edmund (with difficulty) quashed the urge to strangle his older brother.

"The princess of Satarra is about to show up, entourage and all, and you haven't told me?"

"I put the letter on your desk!"

Edmund shuffled through the pile of papers in front of him, and pulled an envelope from the bottom of the stack.

"Yeah, that one." Peter said, pointing at the creamy parchment. "It's got the Satarran royal seal on it, see?"

"You don't say," Edmund muttered, reading it as quickly as he could. "How could you just tell me now?"

"Look, you're not the only busy one here. Maybe if your nose wasn't buried in a book all the time—"

The door burst open again.

"Oh. I thought I heard arguing…it's just you two. _Again_." One of the serving maids flushed pink and withdrew as quickly as she could.

Edmund slapped the letter back onto his desk, and grabbed his cloak.

"I'm going for a ride." He mumbled, sure that a few moment peace and quiet would help him figure out what to do.

* * *

The normally calm driver drove the horses on, and in his frenzy, neglected to let them rest for the night. Even from the back of the coach, Serena could clearly hear the pants of the tired team of Palominos. It was early afternoon now, she realized.

"The horses are tired, we can't go any further." He ventured feebly, sounding exhausted himself.

"Seems like we'll have to end here." Grunted the same voice from the datbefore.

Serena drew aside the curtain to see what was happening. In front of her, the horses had stopped, and the driver was nervously clutching the leather reins. They weren't anywhere near a castle, let alone a village. Serena frowned. End here? In the middle of the woods?

"Cair Paravel isn't too far away. I'd say, with an hour's rest, we will be able to get Her Highness there by nightfall."

"Didn't you 'ear me, you stupid bastard? We're ending here, and that includes the princess."

Serena drew in a breath, and quickly closed the curtain enough so that she could barely peer through the folds.

It was something she would regret.

Before she even had time to realize just how mistaken she was yesterday, a burly, crude looking man leapt towards the driver and slashed his throat with a dagger. Serena ducked below the window hurriedly, and grabbed a heavy, silver candlestick, which she jammed into the handle of the coach's door.

There. She was safe.

"Princess," The _murderer_ said. "Would you like a breath of fresh air?"

Serena shivered and shook her head furiously, even though she knew he couldn't see. She tried to scurry as far away from the door as she could, shaking while cold sweat gathered in her palms. The door shook violently, and in a brief moment of triumph for Serena, the candlestick held. Outside, the man swore violently, and walked away.

There was movement from the other side of the carriage, and she hurried to get to the other side. Moments later, a spearhead burst from where, seconds ago, Serena's hand had been. There was a harsh ripping sound as he tore away at the lightweight boards, creating a large, gaping hole. Feeling behind her back, Serena tore the candlestick from its place, stuffing it into the largest pocket her cloak had. The man stuck his head in and grinned at her, baring his yellow, crooked teeth.

"There you are." He said, his dark eyes glinting with malice. He wormed through the hole, and grabbed her by the waist. Kicking away at some of the wood, he then proceeded to roughly throw her out of the coach, following after.

Serena stood up hurriedly, ignoring the pain in her ankle, brandishing her candlestick like a cudgel.

"Get back." She snapped, with more bravado than she felt. Looking around for the other guards, she realized, to her chagrin, that they were pointing their spear at _her,_ not her attacker.

Surprised, she lowered the silver candlestick, but not completely.

"I have orders to finish this as quickly and painlessly as possibly, girlie." The man growled. "Put that down, and make it easier for yourself."

She shook her head, gripping the candlestick tighter.

"C'mon, sweetie. No one wants to hurt you more than they need to."

Serena stepped back, her heart racing.

The man threw a punch at her, landing her on the ground, thoroughly winded.

"See?" He asked. "Isn't it better to cooperate?" He gestured at the dead driver. "You don't want to end up like 'im."

Serena shook her head again, scrambling to get up. "You'll kill me anyway."

"There's nowhere to hide." The man said, ignoring her. "And you can't outrun us."

She almost lost her nerve, right there, with half a dozen spears pointed at her and nowhere to run but into a tree.

The candlestick dropped from her numb fingers, rolling away forlornly.

"That's better." The man breathed.

_It's over_, thought Serena.

And then it really was.

* * *

Edmund rode through the forest until both he and his horse needed a break. They slowed down, trotting leisurely through the forest. It was a peaceful day in Narnia's forests, and he could distinctly hear the distant calls of a mockingbird.

And then, the silence was broken. There was the sound of a scuffle, then of voices talking. Edmund sighed. Dwarves and their beer. _Always_ the same problem. He ducked under a branch as he rode towards the general direction of the fight, making a mental note to raise the tax on beer.

Or maybe not. What he found was far from a drunken skirmish.

There were nearly half a dozen men, encircling a single figure. Upon closer inspection, the figure was a girl, younger than he was. Edmund didn't like the look of them, and the girl certainly didn't look like a criminal.

"Oi!" He shouted, not being able to think of anything better.

The men instantly turned around, looking for the source. Without even having to think about it, Edmund sat up taller in his saddle and made a grab for his sword, which, it turned out, wasn't very necessary. They fled, running as fast as their armored bodies could take them, leaving behind the meanest, burliest of the bunch.

"Private matter 'ere, no need to get involved." He grunted, attempting to wave Edmund away.

If he didn't get involved, Edmund decided, the girl was as good as dead. She must have agreed, because while the man was preoccupied, she attempted to sidle away from him. The man's hand shot out, and grabbed her back with a low growl from him and a distressed cry from her.

"I'm sure it could be settled differently." Edmund said, as pleasantly as he could. The girl shot him a dour glare, as if it was the stupidest suggestion she'd ever heard. Judging by the look of the man, she was probably right.

"If you don't leave, I'll make ye." The man told him, brandishing a fist.

"I suppose you could." Edmund acknowledged. If the man was that thick, then helping the girl would be even easier than he'd expected.

"I'm not stupid." He growled. "I've orders to kill the girl first. Maybe if you weren't so high and mighty on that horse ye'd be able to stop me."

He turned around to face the girl, and Edmund saw the unmistakable glint of sharpened steel in his hand. So he threw at the man whatever he happened to have on hand. Which happened to be his sword.

* * *

The sword ripped through her attacker's mail shirt, splattering Serena's skirt and gown with blood. Biting back a surprised scream, she looked around for her savior. He had already dismounted, and was headed towards her, a deep frown etched into his face. He pulled his sword out of the man's back, ignoring a moan from the dying man.

"You seem to have gotten into a spot of trouble." He observed, looking her up and down.

"I didn't do anything." She blurted, hoping it didn't sound suspicious.

He looked at her for a long while. "I'm sure you didn't." He said, not sounding like he did at all. "Let's go."

He cut one of the horses free from Serena's carriage, a spirited mare named Dancer (Or at least that was what the carriage driver called her) and held out the reins for Serena.

"I'm not riding _that._ She's a cart horse." She said, outraged.

"You can walk or ride, it's your choice." He snapped back, his frown deepening.

Grumbling, Serena jammed her foot into the stirrup and swung herself into the saddle. She wasn't even entirely sure what had happened, or where he was taking her, for that matter.

"How about my things?" She asked, with half a mind to go retrieve her candlestick.

"I'll send someone to get them." He said, not even looking at her.

They rode the rest of the way in silence, Serena throwing him dirty looks the whole time.

Her father was going to hear about this, make no mistake. In a way, she reflected, it could be a good thing. Maybe Papa would change his mind and call her back to Satarra if she sent him a nice list of reasons as to why she hated Narnia. _One, attacked by a bunch of louts. Two, Narnians happen to be offensively rude._

They passed through a set of wrought-iron gates, and stopped in the courtyard. The Narnian castle was smaller than she'd expected, but strangely much more inviting than any of her father's palaces.

"Cair Paravel," He announced, sounding not entirely glad to be there.

The gates behind them clattered closed. He dismounted and casually sauntered up to one of the guardsmen. "Tell Peter to send a squadron down to the woods, a bit upstream from the Boulders."

"Yessir." The guard said, hurrying inside the castle.

"Now," He said, turning towards Serena. "What are you doing in Narnia?"

"I'm not running from the law, you know," She snapped back. "You don't have to think I _deserved_ to be attacked by those goons."

He raised his eyebrows. "Jumpy, are we?"

"Don't you have _any_ idea who I am?" She asked angrily, clambering down from the horse.

His eyes flitted towards the royal crest sewn onto her horse's saddle. "Yes." He said flatly.

"Good, because I'd like you to know that I don't even _want_ to be here."

"Do you think I invited you?"

"I wouldn't have accepted it anyway." She crossed her arms. Her ankle hurt even worse now, and Serena knew that the first thing she would do when she ran into _any_ of the Kings or Queens was to let them know that they had the most imperiously obnoxious guardsmen.

"Your father's the one who sent me a request, remember?"

He looked really young for a king.

Behind Serena, one of the serving maids tittered slightly, and Serena opened her mouth to tell the girl off. Luckily for her, a blondish man appeared from one of the side doors. He was wearing a heavy crown, and there was a sizable amount of likeness between him and his brother.

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, Princess." He said, giving her an endearing smile. "Your apartments are ready. I've sent some men to go pick up your things." He led her away from the courtyard, inquiring about her trip.

Edmund didn't follow.

* * *

"Ask her for the next dance," Susan hissed, poking Edmund in the ribs. "It's only polite."

"How about no?" He asked, taking a gulp of whatever was in his cup (some naiad had insisted on filling it, and he had no idea what the amber colored liquid was).

"Ed!"

"There are a million ladies there. By the time I even get into her immediate vicinity, it'll be summer."

"That's what 'excuse me' is for." Susan said, glaring at her. "C'mon, it's her welcoming ball."

Muttering darkly, he put down his goblet and walked towards her.

There was a chorus of "good evening"s and "your majesty"s, to which Edmund was only all too happy to ignore.

"May I?" He asked quietly, extending his hand.

Serena decided to save face for the both of them, and wordlessly took his hand.

"Alright there?" He inquired.

"Yes." She said stiffly.

There was silence for a while. "Your father had you sent here for your safety, you know."

"Well _that_ didn't work, did it?"

"Those soldiers were your own." He pointed out. "They had the royal crest sewn onto their backs."

Inadvertently, she gripped his hand tighter. "There has to be some mistake."

"I don't think so." He said, lowering his voice. "You started with an escort of twenty, Princess. I only saw seven."

"I don't know what happened, if that's what you're getting at."

"_Something_ must have happened. Surely you know."

"Me? Know? So seven of my men decide to try to kill me. What do I have to do with this?"

"Everything." He said. "Someone must have sent them."

Serena shivered, not liking the frankness of this conversation. "They mentioned that they had orders. To kill me."

"Is that all?" He asked, obviously irritated. "I just _told_ you they were sent."

"Yes that's it." She snapped, pushing him away. "Leave me alone."

* * *

A/N: Ehhhhhhh...that's about all...but by the way, in "The Horse and His Boy" Aravis uses the words "shut up", so I can use it too! (And so can you)


	2. Chapter 4

"So, Peter, what's that devious little mind of yours uncovered so far?" Edmund asked, choosing a sword from the rack.

"Practice first, talk later." Peter said, pacing along the sparring hall as he watched Edmund weigh a foil and then a rapier in his hands.

"I think you can talk and stab at the same time."

Being Peter's sparring partner had been a bad idea, Edmund reflected. But it was either spend half an hour trading slashes and insults with Peter every morning or having to hire an expensive Marrocoan swordsmaster, so he'd chosen the former.

"I don't know anything."

Edmund frowned. "Of course you do. You run a check on almost everybody coming into the castle. Don't tell me you checked on a middle-aged man like Ambassador Sophos and not the Princess that you, by the way, put in the room next to mine."

"It's the second best suite in the castle. Why wouldn't I put her there?" Peter rolled his eyes.

"Do you at least know how long she's staying?"

"In months? No. But I'm guessing that her father'll have her stay until he finds someone to marry her off to."

"That could take a while." Edmund muttered, thinking of her taciturn expression and haughty demeanor.

"Naw. She's pretty." Peter lunged forward, and Edmund just barely managed to deflect the blow.

"What? No."

"No?"

"She doesn't even smile."

"Well, she's sitting for a portrait right now, so her father probably wants copies of it done so that he can send it to princes in the region. And if she weren't that attractive, would he even bother?"

"Guess not."

"She's expensive too, it seems." Peter observed. "I keep seeing new furniture and things being moved into her suite. Are we paying for it?"

"No, it's a bit of financial wrangling, actually." Edmund answered. "Oberon offered to send us some gold every month, but I said that we'd pay her bills and send him an invoice later."

"Oh. So Oberon'll pay us back later? That makes sen—"

"No." Said Edmund smugly. "I told him to put whatever he needed to pay us back into loans—he's happy to hear that we trust his treasury that much, so there's a nice little interest rate factored in."

"You're brilliant." Peter said, though it didn't stop him from stabbing at Edmund's ribs.

"We'll get paid five years from now, with three percent extra in interest."

Edmund parried another blow, wished that he could be off doing something else.

"So what were you saying about Princess Serena being pretty, again?" He asked, not really caring about the answer.

"I didn't say _that_." Peter blustered, distracted. "I just said that—Argh!"

Peter lowered his sword to his side, and glared at Edmund, whose sword was inches from his throat.

"That's cheating."

Edmund shrugged. "No one's going to care if it's cheating in a real fight."

Peter made a rude gesture at him before swatting away Edmund's rapier. He hung up his sword, and walked out of the hall, turning around just before stepping out the door.

"You were staring at her during dinner, you know." He grinned, and swung the door shut before Edmund had a chance to retort.

* * *

"The forest is quite safe, but don't stay there after dark alone." Peter had warned her.

Serena had by no means forgotten Peter's words. But the idea that night was settling across the forest while she had yet to find a way out didn't unsettle her in the slightest, even if she had decided to wrap her cloak tighter around herself.

There was no sight of Cair Paravel from behind the dense overgrowth and treetops, and shadows lengthened at the light of the setting sun. Ever since being sent away, a feeling of rebellion had been stirring within her, and what better way than to test the limits? Perhaps her close brush with danger had given her a newfound sense of invincibility.

Either way, the sun was dipping below the horizon, and Serena did not care.

A wolf's howl pierced the air, startling like a lightning flash and mournful like a dirge. Serena felt a shiver run through her back, and she searched the surrounding area for the path out of the woods. She uncovered three, none of which she could distinguish from the other. The middle one seems to twist and wind the least, she decided, and headed down the path. The wood was surprisingly quiet as she walked, though it might have just been the blood pounding in her ears masking the sounds.

"Well, this can't be right." She muttered to herself, staring forlornly at what happened to be a dead end. Serena turned around. Back to square one.

* * *

"Where is she?" Demanded Susan.

"Where's who? You're seamstress?" Edmund shot her an expectant glance before returning to the piece of paper he was examining.

"_My daughter is a sensible girl," _Her father had written in his letter. _"And her expenses needn't be regulated. Simply send me a monthly list of any expenses to be paid."_

Surely enough, Princess Serena had handed him a list that morning of her past month's expenditures, and told him to send it to her father's chief of staff. It was a surprisingly neat and thorough list, and though he hadn't checked the arithmetic yet, it looked to be correct.

Perhaps her strengths lay in numbers and figures, not people, he reflected. And here he'd thought that all princesses were taught to be charming and friendly.

"That princess of yours, that's who."

"First of all, she is _not_ my princess." He began. Why did everyone think that she as _his_ princess? "And—I don't know either."

* * *

\Damn it. Damn it _all_. How hard was it for the girl to just follow directions and keep herself out of mortal danger for a few hours?

Edmund ran, ignoring the stitch in his side, skidding to a stop at a fork in the road.

As mentioned before: Damn it. Damn it all.

His blue gray eyes flicked between the three paths, as he tried to fathom which one she was going to be down.

A sinister wheezy-croaking sound filled the air, coming from the left.

Hobgoblins, not a lot, but enough to be trouble.

She was a magnet for trouble, he decided. Half grimacing, half twitching into a bemused smile, the corners of his mouth tightened as he sprinted to the left.

* * *

Wheeze. Wheeze.

It sounded of the sick and dying, but with a more sinister and graver quality jumbled in.

_Wheeze. Wheeze_.

Again, louder, closer.

Serena's hands shook as she gathered the folds of her cloak tighter around her body. She opened her mouth to cry out, but found that the fear nixed all the sound in her throat.

_Wheeze. Wheeze._

Eager, excited, and more importantly, close.

Her breathing cam in quick ragged gasps. She thought she saw a horned head looming in front of her.

Please, please be another oddly shaped bush, she thought.

No such luck. Her skirt rippled slightly from the creature's breath. Something pinned down the hem of her dress. She tugged at her skirt, but whatever it was fought back.

A loud thumping sound. Probably her heart. Her own mortality seemed not so much of a far off concept now.

"Serena!"

The creatures scrambled away at the flickering light of her rescuer's torch. Serena caught a fleeting glimpse of their eyes, lizardlike, with slitted pupils, as they darted away.

He wrapped one arm around her-the other hand grasping a torch-as he led her, running through a blur of twists and turns.

"What. The. Hell." He panted.

She recognized the voice with a sinking feeling.

Edmund got silence in place of an answer.

* * *

"Aelis! Aelis!" Nobody came from any of the archways leading into the deserted courtyard. "Oh nevermind." He mumbled, leading her down one of the wider halls and into the kitchens.

The fireplaces glowed red with dying embers, as servants cleaned up after the night's dinner. Edmund set her down in front of one the size of three or four men and shoved a cup of something hot into her hands.

"Drink up. No more tea, sorry." He said, collapsing unto a sack of flour.

She gulped down the boiling water. It scalded her throat, and she was grateful for it.

He waited for her drain most of what was in the mug before giving her a harsh look. "Now would you care to explain what the _hell _you were doing?"

Serena gulped again, this time not at any liquids. "I got lost."

"I don't doubt that." He said ruefully. "Didn't Peter tell you—"

"—Not to stay in the forest after dark? Yes."

"So what were you doing outside?"

"Have you _ever_ sat for a portrait artist? Two weeks of sitting absolutely still, and now he wants to start over because he thought I'd look better sitting down. So I walked out on the fool."

Edmund wanted to laugh. He really did.

"He's also billing by the hour." Edmund pointed out.

She nodded, their differences forgotten. "Stupid painter rounds up, too. You'd think I'd notice, since I've been counting the minutes that I have to stand there for him."

Serena rolled her eyes, made a derisive sound, and stared into the fire for a while.

Peter had been right, sort of, when he said that she was pretty. Not like some of the ladies at court, or even the nymphs. She made Edmund think of thousand year old mosaics, of Byzantine empresses. Actually, she was quite beautiful, in an unforgettable, strikingly majestic sort of way.

"Your father sent you here for your safety, you know. What's wrong in Satarra?"

Her eyes snapped back to his. "Nothing. But my father'll always think that I'm in some sort of danger."

"Even if you are, you hold up quite well on your own." Edmund admitted. "I don't think I've ever even seen a candlestick used in that way."

She studied him. "I haven't ever thanked your for, ah, saving me. Not for the first time, or the second."

"Don't worry about it." He assured her. "I'm sure you won't have to stay for long," He added. "Probably just long enough for your father to marry you off—which shouldn't take long because according to Peter, you're quite pretty."

Serena gave him a bemused smile. "And what do _you_ think?"

The question caught Edmund by surprise. "I—"

"It's going to take a little longer than Peter thinks. There's about a million and a half things my father'll look at before he'll even consider somebody for me to marry." Her voice was neutral, as if she didn't care about any of the marriage business.

"It'll take even longer if you keep walking out on your portrait artist."

She smiled again, just a little. "Then I should go to bed, because he won't like it if I have circles under my eyes tomorrow."

She stood, and set the cup he'd given her down on the table behind her. "I suppose I could always convince him to paint a portrait of me reading a book. At least reading the dictionary'll keep me somewhat entertained."

"I have a large one in my library." He offered.

And as she walked out of the kitchen, Edmund realized that he had been wrong on two counts. Serena really was rather charming, if in a drolly sarcastic way. And Peter had been right about her being pretty.

Maybe he wouldn't mind having her in his castle, after all.


	3. Chapter 6

Hey guys, I'm back! Guess this means summer is back up!

Just so you guys know, Ebbinghaus is officially ON PAUSE until I finish Pourquoi Moi...mostly because I had it all written on my laptop and then the laptop crashed, so I've had to start from scratch.

* * *

"You look sick," Serena observed, frowning as Edmund sank into the chair next to her.

"Not sick." He informed her as he reached for the coffee. "Tired and very, very fed up."

"You need an assistant."

"No. I need a governess and nurse for my brother."

"Considering how disagreeable you are in the morning, I would think that you need a nurse too. Somebody to make sure you aren't waking up on the wrong side of the bed." Serena suggested.

"I need some toast." Edmund replied, scanning the table.

"Take mine, if you don't mind marmalade." Serena slid her plate over. He gratefully picked up an untouched slice of toast and devoured it between gulps of coffee.

"I'd go back to sleep, but Perinore wants to give me a report on the Northern Giants' activities." He poured more coffee into his cup with the sort of air that made Serena think that a coffee bean had once done him a great wrong. "As if I gave two—"

"Do you want cream with that?" She asked, reaching for the jug.

"No, of course not." Edmund scowled. "And I don't want official dispatches with my coffee either!" He raised his voice at the trembling page that had just stepped into the Great Hall with a letter clutched in his shaking hands.

"You could at least _try_ to be pleasant in the morning."

"L-letter for your majesty." The boy muttered, gingerly depositing the letter in front of Edmund.

Edmund picked it up and turned it over in his hand delicately, as if trying to resist urge to crumple it in his fist.

"Thank you, Thomas." Serena said, flashing the page a cheerful smile. He bowed and backed away, his lip quivering. "Who's it from?" She turned to ask Edmund.

He hurriedly covered it with his hand. "No one in particular-tell Pelinore I'll be a little late for our meeting." He stood up and left the hall, running up the stairs towards his study two steps at a time.

* * *

Though she had cause a substantial amount of trouble upon her arrival, Serena found Narnia to be altogether too pleasant for her to stay angry at her father. The atmosphere was most like what it felt to be alone in her room, without any groveling courtiers or meddlesome servants trying to satisfy her every whim.

She liked the quiet of the riding trails, and how they were narrow enough so that only two people could ride side by side. With the swooping canopy of trees overhead and lilting birdsongs weaving through the dense foliage, there was a solitude that she'd almost never gotten at home.

Serena had just decided that, save for Edmund eating her toast, it had been an otherwise peaceful morning when the sound of a twig being trampled underfoot made her turn around sharply. Two large, beefy looking men were following her.

"Am I needed for something?" She asked stiffly.

"No ma'am, no." The shorter of the two said. "We're your guard."

"I don't have a guard."

"Not until now, no. King Edmund ordered us to follow you and make sure you stayed safe."

"I was under the impression that I was not to have any guards at all." She frowned suspiciously. "Are you sure King Edmund sent you?"

"Yes ma'am. You can go ask him."

"I will." She spurred her horse into a gallop towards the castle, and if she trampled one of her guards in the process, all the better.

* * *

Serena angrily burst into Edmund study, not even stopping to take in his visibly surprised face.

"You doubled the guard on my room?"

"Well to be fair, you only had about two in the first pl—"

"And you're having two guards follow me when I decide to take a ride through the trail behind the castle?"

"Ah. You noticed."

"Of course I noticed! There are quieter elephants!" She paused, livid. "I thought we agreed that I didn't need a nurse."

"Weelll…You said that I needed one this morning, so I decided that you needed one as well. Or six."

"Six! Why in the world would I need six? What in the world would make you decide to pay four extra men to guard me day in and day out?"

"I just told you. Consider it my idea of a joke." He retracted his legs from their place on the table and sat up neatly in his chair, closing the book he had had open in his lap.

"Is this a continuation of your joke? Because you would never pay out an extra thousand or so crowns just to play a practical joke on me."

"Perhaps I especially wanted to play a joke on you." He said evasively.

"No, you didn't." She jabbed a finger in his direction accusingly. "What did I do this time? Forget to wear the right shoes to dinner?"

"I'm quite sure that, if anyone were to notice it would be Susan, not me."

"That's not the point, Ed. Why do I have six more guards than usual?"

"Just treat them as ornaments, Serena. They're trained to act like they haven't seen a thing."

"Why don't you just tell me why I have six men following me around? Ordering that many guards on me, that's something my father would do." She paused. "It's something only my father would do. Why'd he ask you add six men to my guard, Ed?"

"Well, naturally he has reason to be concerned about your well being—"

She interrupted him again. "Do you think I don't know when you're trying to lie to me? Just tell me why my father would want six extra bloody men on my guard."

"Bloody? Are they bleeding?" Edmund attempted weakly to make a joke. She leveled an intense gaze at him, and he was forced to sober up. "I got a letter from him this morning." He said carefully, watching Serena for her reaction.

"Yes, yes I was there."

"Why don't you sit down?" He suggested, gesturing at the chair across from him. She obliged and sat down, not taking her eyes off of him. "He wanted to tell me that he caught a little-ah-bug."

"A bug." Her eyes narrowed.

"According to the court physician, the poison he ingested a few months ago is still in his body and still working as a poison. It's been-ah-eating away at him for a while…figuratively, of course. He has all the alchemists in your country searching for a cure." He fiddled with a marble carving of Aslan as he spoke.

"And have they found a cure?" Serena asked tightly. "How sick is he?"

"Sick enough for him to ask me to double your security. He-he didn't go into detail."

She sat tightlipped, and refused to speak.

"He sends you his love, by the way." She fixed him with a look that did not seem to appreciate being sent any love from anyone. As she stood and left without a single word, Edmund thought that maybe he could have phrased things better.

Outside Edmund's office, Serena did not cry. She had learned, at the age of four while attending her mother's funeral not to cry. It was something very below a woman of her station to do, and even now, where no one could see her, Serena managed not to cry.

Serena's mother had been killed by poison, but the kind that caused her mother to go from living to dead in less than an hour. Now her own father had been poisoned, and though it was a slow-acting poison, she could tell that it was no less potent from the way he was treating the matter.

_He has all the alchemists in your country searching for a cure._ Surely, one of them would find a cure. As all her previous governesses said to her, Serena had nothing to worry about.


	4. Chapter 7

It had been almost a year since Serena found out that her father had been poisoned, but there hadn't been a single letter from Satarra since. She took it that her father was well, and her being the youngest of his four children, he had neglected to tell her so.

She had been at breakfast, watching Edmund drink impossible quantities of black coffee when a page arrived with a letter for her.

"Who's it from?" He asked, leaning towards her as he stirred absolutely nothing into his coffee.

"My brother." She stirred a few sugar cubes into her coffee, hoping that maybe Edmund would get the hint and stop drinking his coffee black like only a masochist would.

"Which one? You have three, if I remember correctly."

"Allister…Damian and Albion would never bother writing." She opened the letter as she spoke.

"You don't either. All your letters are what, three sentences long?"

She didn't reply. Instead she continued to read, moving her lips as if reading aloud but not really making any sound.

"He's dead." She said, throwing the letter down on the table in front of her. "I can't say it wasn't expected." Serena pushed her chair back abruptly and left the hall, with a great deal more composure than many would have expected from her. Edmund picked up the letter and skimmed it, catching the words "sorry" and "unfortunately" several times in its context. He found that, for once, he really had nothing to say.

* * *

When Edmund found her, Serena was sitting in one of the more secluded corners of the castle courtyard.

"I'm fine." She told him before he had a chance to ask.

"Sure you are." He handed her Snowflake's reins. "Let's go for your usual morning ride."

"No. Not now." She shook her head and folded her hands into her lap, refusing to take the reins from Edmund's outstretched hands.

"You always go for a ride in the morning. C'mon." He deposited the reins into her lap. She glared at him before grabbing them, mounting Snowflake, and then riding out of the courtyard with more speed than anyone would have expected out of a horse named Snowflake.

Serena refused to acknowledge him when he finally caught up with her, and so they rode the kind of silence that only started awkwardly and soon gave her time to think things through. She had always known that her father was to die relatively early on in her life. It was a reality that neither she nor any of those around her could ignore. He had been gray-haired and ancient from the day she was born.

It didn't change the fact that he was dead, just because she had expected it.

* * *

Edmund grappled with the idea of saying something, but Serena had always been one to keep to herself when it came to personal details, so he couldn't really think of anything comforting to say. After nearly two years of living in Cair Paravel, he found that he knew remarkably little about her. She had three older brothers, and like the middle one, Allister best. Her mother had died when she was very young; and Serena hardly remembered her, though she mentioned have her mother's eyes. Other than that, she'd revealed little other details about herself, except that she'd learned to ride her first pony before she could walk.

All else Edmund had to learn based on observation alone. She liked copious amounts of cream in her coffee (which Edmund personally found disgusting), enjoyed wearing varying shades of violet (this, like most of the men in court, Edmund could approve of), liked Lucy but was rather cold to Susan, and could spot lies better than even his mother.

None of it gave him anything to say that wasn't horribly hackneyed, but resigning to following her in silence was becoming quite awkward.

"Nice weather we're having, aren't we?" He asked, regretting it at once. Not only was it an incredibly stupid thing to say, but the sky was actually a grim shade of gray.

"Yes, it's just lovely." She replied tersely. "Why are you still following me?"

"I just thought I should."

"No, you shouldn't. I'd like to be alone for once." She snapped, urging her horse forward so that within moments, Edmund lost sight of her in the thick trees. He would have respected her wishes and gone back to the castle, but at that moment there was a low rumble of thunder and it began to rain. He rubbed his forehead tiredly, pausing to note that it was now mid-afternoon and he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast before setting off behind her. The rain was incredibly cold, and strong winds made an already crisp autumn's day especially frigid. He hunkered down, so that his horse's heat could be shared by both of them and tried to spot Serena through the rain.

He didn't need this. He really didn't. He ought to be going inside and warming up with a nice bowl of soup, not chasing after someone old enough to take care of herself. Sometimes he thought that she needed more looking after than Lucy, and sometimes he wondered if even Peter had as much grit and stubborn resolve as she did.

The rain became steadier, with gigantic droplets beating down on Edmund's back. He needed to get both of them back to the castle before the rain intensified into one of the torrential rainstorms that Narnia was famous for. He caught a brief glance of Serena's back as he blinked rain from his eyes.

"Serena!" He called her, but was drowned out by an earthshaking clap of thunder. She turned just as Snowflake was startled into rising onto its hind legs and pawed the air. Her hand searched vainly for something to grip for a moment before she fell into the mud. Edmund hastened to help her up before too much damage was done, not knowing whether to be worried or relieved by the expression on her face, which looked more angry than anything.

"Alright there?" He inquired, extending a hand to help her up.

She huffed angrily, but took his hand and let him pull her up, grimacing as she did. She hadn't even managed to stand up straight when her foot gave way beneath her and caused her to fall back into the mud. "That damn horse." She moaned from the ground, glaring at Snowflake. There was a bruise purpling on the side of her forehead, and she touched her ankle gingerly. Serena inhaled deeply, looking as if just breathing caused her great pain, and closed her eyes.

"That ankle's broken." Edmund told her matter-of-factly, eyeing the odd angle it was bent to.

She opened her eyes. "Ah." Then she fell backwards, into a swoon.

Edmund rushed to catch her. "Oh, no you don't." He said, callously shaking her awake. He didn't fancy having to carry her anywhere. Her eyes fluttered open, but the lack of lucidity in them made him decide that they'd never make it back to the castle before nightfall, let alone midnight. Cursing more inventively than people thought he was capable of, Edmund tied Snowflake and his own horse together, using one hand to lead them both and another to steady Serena as he searched for a tree to wait out the storm under.

* * *

Serena awoke with aches all over, a throbbing ankle and head, and absolutely no clue where she was. There was dried mud all over her gown, and it made the smooth silk feel disgusting. The scent of the cloak (which clearly was not hers) draped upon her body caused her to feel as if someone had hollowed out her chest and filled it with some sort of fluff that was lighter than air and made it hard to breathe.

Sunlight and the scent of earth that had just been rained upon poured in through the empty doorframe of the shed. As the pain ebbed away a little, she could feel the hay she had spent the night sleeping on pricking at her skin through the thin fabric of her dress. There was a strange thwacking sound from outside. Serena sat up slowly, noting that her head was barely two or three handbreadths away from the shed's low ceiling. Too bewildered for any sense of panic, she coolly smoothed her hair with her fingers and pulled the wrinkles from her dress as she looked outside.

Edmund was splitting wood with an ax he'd magically produced from somewhere. As she watched him, Serena wondered why she'd never noticed him before. The first three buttons of his shirt were unfastened, revealing the contrast between his pale skin and the dark blue linen of his shirt. The absence of the silver crown, velvets and silks made him more young man than king, and for the first time she observed his untidy mess of black hair, the scuffs on his boots and nondescript common plain trousers. Though appearing so commonplace, Edmund strangely seemed more distinguished than Serena had ever given him credit for. A shallow impression on the dirt floor of the shed told Serena that if she checked the back of Edmund's shirt she would find dust on it from sleeping in on the floor the night before. She didn't know exactly how to feel towards her surprising revelation, but the thought that maybe she could call him just "Edmund", or even "Ed" strangely materialized in her head.

Suddenly Atari seemed tediously silly, and Serena began to wonder why and how she was still replying to his letters. She was now much less confused about where she was, and much more about what exactly to make of it all.

* * *

Edmund frowned down at the small pile split wood at his feet and set the ax down. Serena was sitting up, deftly folding his cloak without even having to look at it. Her mouth was still a grim line, but there was not crying, wailing or passing out. He took that as a positive sign.

"We should go back, if you think you can ride."

She nodded wordlessly, and handed him back his cloak. She picked herself up and walked past him, to the tree that Snowflake was tied to. The only sign that she was even nominally injured was a slight limp, and her use of her left instead of right foot to mount her horse.

Just like how Peter had inherited their father's good looks and mother's gregarious charm, Edmund had received his father's impatience for theatric and histrionic behavior over careful restraint. He was, therefore, relieved at her guardedly composed mien. As they rode, Edmund took her slightly dazed expression and silence as whatever residual sentiments she had over yesterday morning's news. Still, he had to admit to treating her remarkable poise with appreciative approval; and tried to fathom why he'd never given her credence for it before.

* * *

(A/N: Not gonna lie, I am HORRIBLE at being emotional, and this is genuinely how I would feel...thanks to all of you who've been so patient in waiting for updates!)


	5. Chapter 8

The hooded figure sat, barricaded inside a narrow castle alcove. The air was rife with cries of grief over the dead king. How pathetic, he thought. All of them.

He smiled to himself as he thought of the way Damien had mournfully announced that his father was dead. When he remembered the way that the captain of the guard expressed that he was completely perplexed as to who could have killed Oberon, the figure's smile grew wider.

As he contemplated his success, he also considered what he needed to do next. His next target was far away-a little too far for him to travel without causing suspicion-but there were always those who would do what he sent them to do, no questions asked.

* * *

"Bruised all over with a badly twisted ankle, but she'll be just fine in a week or two." The court doctor said.

"Yes, but the blackout? Did you check-"

"Overexcitement," He sniffed. "Women are quite vulnerable to bad news."

Edmund politely thanked the doctor and bade him good day. Though, in reality the pale, wispy looking physician looked more likely to get "overexcited" and drop dead than Serena any day.

* * *

Save for not wearing heeled shoes for the next week or two, Serena didn't let her injuries deter her in the slightest. She refused to eat the bland porridge sent up to her rooms too, and therefore found herself wandering into the private dining room, where the Pevensies would be enjoying a quiet dinner.

"So her father is dead?" Asked Peter's voice.

"Yes. Didn't I just say so?" She heard Edmund say, sounding irritated.

"On the bright side," Said Lucy, sniggering, "Maybe now that he's gone, you can finally marry Serena."

There was a chorus of muffled snickers around the table, and Serena smiled too. If Lucy was speaking to Peter, than, really, it was rather funny. She was just thinking about what a strange, incongruous match they would be, when she heard Edmund's voice. "I am quite sure," He said quietly "That I can afford other priorities."

Serena turned around so quickly her head spun, and walked away much at a faster speed than what was healthy for a sprained ankle.

As she sat cross legged on her bed spooning porridge into her mouth and enjoying a book she had pilfered from Edmund's library, Serena reflected that at least she wasn't the silly sort of woman who let a mild disappointment ruin her entirely. She was neither distraught nor at a loss for words; of which a few harsh ones she would enjoying flinging in Edmund's direction. The idea of accidentally spilling a cup of tea on his book wasn't a bad one, either. She had to remind herself that she had no real reason to be angry at him. He hadn't made her any promises or anything, but she still felt jilted in a ridiculous way. Serena came to the conclusion that she was suffering from sheer stupidity, and with that thought tossed the book onto a nearby table where it landed with a crash, placed the bowl on the ground where someone would see it and pick it up, and went to bed.

* * *

"You don't look all that well." Edmund observed, watching Serena drop herself into a chair.

"Not a morning person." She managed, surveying the morning's breakfast offerings with an expression of disinterest.

"Some tea'll perk you up." He said, pushing a cup of Earl Grey, flavored with the best Calormene bergamot in front of her.

"Ugh that _mush_ looks like glue." She said, ignoring the tea.

"And yet you had that porridge for breakfast, lunch and dinner for the last two weeks."

"Had, but didn't eat." She replied. "Stop being so stingy with the sugar."

"I'm not the cook," Edmund said, miffed. "And speaking of sugar, stop _bewitching_ the men in the kitchen into letting you keep a bowl or two in your rooms. We're running low on sugar bowls, _and_ this is the fifth time Anne's complained of roaches. Really. Just because you're mildly attractive doesn't mean you have to abuse it."

"Mildly?"

"'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.'" Lucy, who had been listening to their conversation muttered to Edmund.

"Moderately. Extremely." He amended.

Serena gave a dissatisfied sniff, though truthfully, "extremely" did not even begin to describe how attractive he thought her to be.

She was small in stature, with delicate features that outright lied about who she was. The last time Edmund had seen such pigheadedness, it had been the butcher's wife; with her ruddy cheeks, double chin and heaving bosom. She had also punched him square in the jaw when he demanded that she stop selling rotting meat right outside the castle gates in the sweltering heat. Both his jaw and nose stung with the memory.

It was neither Serena's slight stature nor delicate features that drew people's attention though. It was her strange, violet eyes. They weren't really violet, but varying colors swirled together to create something vaguely purple. No one color could describe them. Edmund imagined that if someone were to mix the sky at dawn, when one part was deep blue and another part was rose-hued red, together and add flecks of scarlet-gold sun, they night come close-but not very-to the color of her eyes.

Edmund tapped at the side of his cup with a spoon absently as he thought. "Stop." Serena said, irritably grabbing his wrist and forcing it into his lap.

"Huh? Oh, sorry."

She stood up, shaking her head and sighing through her nose as she did, leaving behind an untouched cup of tea.

"Remember, Peter's ball is tonight." Edmund called after her. She didn't show any response, but he was quite sure she'd heard him.

He took a sip from his cup and promptly blanched. Lucy had taken the opportunity to turn his coffee into _café au lait_.

* * *

**(A/N): Hey guys, I have a little problem here that I want you to advise me on. I look at the hits on this story by chapter, and I see that there are twice as many hits on the first chapter than there are on the others. Is this because so many people go to the first chapter first and then jump to the back, or do you think I should rewrite it so that it encourages people to read on further because they read the first chapter and decide not to continue? Thanks again, for reading and for your input!**

**Oh yeah. And please don't berate me for creating a Mary Sue, because I've resolved that in the next chapter, which I really just need to revise a little before posting. Thanks!**


	6. Chapter 9

"This is ridiculous." Serena hissed to Lucy. "Just because you hate dancing doesn't mean I have to stand here on the side with you."

"Would you rather take your chances with a satyr? They _do_ like you, very much."

Serena tightened her lips. She wasn't _that_ bored. "Forget Susan. Even you numbskull brother is dancing with someone."

"Which one?"

"Both." She replied promptly.

"Well, Peter's Peter. If he wasn't dancing, it wouldn't be a party, would it?" Lucy pointed out. "And Ed's with Beryl. God, I wish he'd just marry her or something already. They'd be so nice together."

Serena eyed Beryl disdainfully. "Her nose is crooked, and her neck is far too skinny for those pearls. Bad posture, too." She added.

"We couldn't possible _all_ have men dropping dead at our feet, the world would come to an end." Lucy said, looking Serena up and down. "Any reason for the sudden change?"

"We don't all seem to have taste either." She replied, scoffing at the rubies set into the heels of Susan's shoes and dodging Lucy's question. It was true, though. Even those who labeled Serena more plain than pretty were forced to give her at least a second glance. She'd always favored simple, aristocratically cut gowns over more extravagant ones, but this gown of silk taffeta was an entirely different affair. Its deep purple-pink seemed to make her almost glow, and the fabric swished pleasantly with her every move. She had even consented to artfully weaving a delicate looking chain of stones through her hair, though Lucy thought that she didn't really need the sparkling jewels to make her dazzle

Serena's looks had never been the sort to assault the senses. Rather they seemed to pervade through osmosis, but tonight she managed to do both. It was all considerably marred by her stony face. That, coupled with her dismissive hauteur meant that people generally gave her a wide berth, no matter how breathtakingly beautiful she could be. Having grown up in around thousands of courtiers currying for her favor, Serena had learned to distance herself from the populace as much as possible; and the only place where Lucy ever saw her give a genuine smile was in the company of but a few. While in Satarra it meant that very few opportunists could garner anything from her, in Narnia it only made people think she was dour and unpleasant.

Maybe, she reflected, this was why her brother was dancing with Beryl instead. Beryl was pretty and agreeable, but Lucy always tended to think that Edmund had trouble mustering an iota of romantic affection for her. They were quite lovely superficially, but he always adopted a glazed over expression after being in her company for too long. Serena often caused him to kick at walls in frustration, but at least he didn't appear _dead_ when he was with her. Personally, Lucy would have liked her brother to fall in love with Serena instead, since she was one person closer to her age that treated her more like a person than deity. Ever since Serena had casually ripped an entire length of fine white muslin from her embroidery hoop to mop up spilled tea, Lucy had considered her a friend; and she hated the fact that Serena would leave once a marriage could be arranged for her. She and Edmund only had a cordial relationship, though, and even that sometimes lapsed, considering their frequent disagreements. The chances that anything could happen between them were quite slim, and the chances that there could be anything between Serena and Peter were positively infinitesimal. Lucy sighed as she considered the fact, looking around as she did.

A handsome stranger was now talking to Serena, and she was taking polite sips from the goblet he'd brought her. The icy expression that had been on her face as she'd been watching the dancers was fading a little.

"Do you mind, Lu?" She asked, about to accept the stranger's invitation for a dance.

"No, you go ahead."

Serena gave her goblet to the nearest waiter and disappeared into the throng of dancers with the stranger.

* * *

"So where are you from? I don't think I've seen you before."

"Oh, I'm here and there." He told her airily, "I arrived just in time, early this morning."

"That's good to hear," She said. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Serena?" The way she said it implied that he ought to know that it was _Princess_ Serena, not just Serena and that he should treat her as such.

"The pleasure is mine, I'm sure." He didn't offer his name, but it didn't bother Serena much. Edmund had just whirled by, shooting the stranger a suspicious glare, and Serena was too preoccupied with that to realize much. The music changed, meaning that it was time to change dance partners, and Serena turned to find herself face to face with Edmund.

"Who was that?" He asked, taking her hand and leading her across the ballroom in time with the music.

"I'm not sure. I thought you would know." She searched for him, but the stranger had melted into the crowd and disappeared. "Didn't you see the guest list?" She asked.

"Peter made it, so no. I didn't."

"He _did_ mention just arriving this morning…must be foreign."

"I'm sure he didn't come just for the ball. You can peruse the guest list however much you want tomorrow." He said, a slight edge in his voice.

"Where's Beryl?" She asked, changing the subject.

He flushed a little. "She doesn't really like…crowds."

"She seemed fine with if for the most part of the evening." Serena said with a hint of accusation

"Only because her mother made her come."

"Ah." If Beryl's mother was forcing her to attend balls in hopes of snagging a king for a son-in-law, than Serena could almost feel bad for her.

The music began to wind down. Edmund looked around awkwardly before turning to her and saying, "Just...because, I think you lo-"

Suddenly the room was much too warm for Serena, and it began to spin beneath her feet. She felt someone catching her by the upper arms and heard Edmund's voice shouting at the crowd to give her a little space to breathe.

* * *

"I'm _fine._" Serena insisted.

"Of course you are." Edmund said. "Why don't I let you go back to the ball so you can pass out again?" He was fully dressed in his most formal raiment: all brass buttons, medals he'd gotten (probably for stupid, made-up reasons, Serena thought to herself), clean white trousers tucked into carefully shined boots and a dress sword that was probably useless in battle. Strange how anyone could look so much like a Napoleonic war hero and still have so much trouble convincing an eighteen year old girl into staying in bed.

"This is stupid."

"I quite agree. For God's sake, you'd think I was trying to murder you or something."

She crossed her arms and said nothing. He regarded her curiously, as if wondering exactly how soon after he left the room would she spring out of bed and start doing cartwheels. It was a pointless rumination, as the only reason she was arguing with him was because she'd been revived almost instantly but he'd insisted that someone carry her to her room anyway, which didn't save her any embarrassment whatsoever. In reality, Serena had never remembered feeling as worn out, and could hardly keep her eyes open, much less do a cartwheel.

"Get some sleep. I'll see you at breakfast."

* * *

(A/N): I had a really hard time trying to write in Lucy's thoughts while still making it flow well enough. If there are any readers out there who are better writers than me who want to send me tips via review or private message, I would appreciate it and possibly take their advice and rewrite. (Even though I _really_ don't exactly want to, since I've rewritten this chapter five times already D: )


	7. Chapter 10

Serena awoke bathed in cold sweat. Her head spun and felt like it weighed twice as much as usual, and she could barely figure out what time it was. It was probably early morning, judging by the weak light filtering in through the curtains. She pushed herself up and reached out eagerly for the pitcher of water on her bedside table. It was heavy, and even though she used both hands to pick it up, it shook dangerously in her grip. Fumbling for one of the stout, elf-made glasses next to the pitcher, Serena shakily poured herself enough to fill half the glass and fully inundate the surface of the table. Her arms felt like they'd gone lifeless by the time she set the pitcher down. She used one hand to pick up the glass, but it immediately went slack, causing the glass to fall to the ground and shatter into small fragments.

Perturbed because the day before she'd had enough strength to playfully shove Peter to the ground, Serena called Anne to her side. "Anne! I need you here, now!"

Anne rushed in, a tense looking country girl a few years younger than Serena. Even though Serena had grown up in a marble palace a dozen times the size of Cair Paravel and Anne in a one room cottage, they were the closest thing each other had to constant companions. They were friends enough for Serena to give Anne a bolt of velvet abundant enough for a winter cape for both Anne and her seven siblings, and for Anne to insist to anyone who asked that Serena really wasn't the cold distant princess she appeared to be.

"Is anything amiss?" Anne asked, her round face in an almost motherly expression of concern.

"I-I'm not sure. Don't step there Anne, there's glass all over the place."

"You don't look to well, miss. Perhaps I should call for Dr. Dershaw?"

"No, no, no, don't do that." She said, protesting wildly.

"Really, just to be safe-"

"Don't Anne, don't you dare. The last thing I need is-"

Edmund, ever the early riser, burst in without bothering to knock. "By the Lion, stop intimidating your maid," He said, fully dressed but with hair messy enough to suggest he'd been awake for less than an hour. He put one hand on her forehead and one at the base of her neck and forced her into lying back down. "You've got a fever, and you're going to have Dr. Dershaw see you for it."

Serena would have liked to argue. She didn't like the court doctor and his conviction that a little sneeze would kill her at any given moment, but Edmund was already striding out the door and he seemed to have made her fever worse. Her head had felt warm before, but now it seemed to be positively burning. As she absently wondered how anyone's hair could be so tousled from sleep and still looks so casually perfected, she fell into one of those dreamless sleeps that were nevertheless harried and chaotic.

The doctor woke her up. He put a hand on her forehead and checked her pulse. He hemmed and hawed, took out a thermometer to check her temperature, then hemmed and hawed some more. He grunted. "Fever of a hundred and one, with a temperature likely to rise. I'd say a strong fever, possibly influenza. Stay in bed, your highness, and have your maid help you drink a cup or two of water ever couple of hours." He advised.

Serena didn't like the idea of staying in bed while she should have been downstairs, strangling and berating Edmund for _manhandling_ her that morning. Her eyes felt differently, however, and they protested for sleep by refusing to focus properly. She forced them to remain open and energetic until the doctor left; she refused to have him think that she was too weak to stay awake.

* * *

Edmund popped into Serena's room early the next morning right before breakfast. She'd be awake now, he reasoned, and he would eventually have to listen to her condemning him for making Dr. Dershaw see her anyway. Instead the only person awake was Anne, and even she seemed to be wavering between sleep and consciousness. She was wearing an expression of rapt, glassy-eyed attention, as if she had been forcing herself to stay awake.

"Is she alright?" He asked

Anne jumped in her chair. "Yes, sir. She hasn't eaten since yesterday morning. Sleeping, mostly."

"I've noticed." He said, his eyes flicking to where Serena was lying with her back to him, obstinate even in sleep. "I'll see if Dr. Dershaw can come look in on her when he gets a chance."He turned to leave, trying to remember the last time Serena had been quietly asleep for more than six hours.

"Should I tell her you were here, your majesty?" Anne called after him.

"Hm?" He asked absently. "No, don't bother." For once he'd gone through a day in which everyone politely obeyed his orders, and it unnerved him slightly.

* * *

Serena awoke feeling like her head had been through a cheese press. She pushed herself up and waited patiently for the room to stop swaying like the deck of a ship. Anne bustled around her, wiping her damp forehead and trying to force something warm and tasteless down her throat.

"Queen Lucy was here a while ago, she said she would have brought you flowers, had it not been winter." Anne told her.

"Thank her for me. Was anyone else here? King Edmund?"

"No, sorry. King Edmund's a very busy man, your highness." Anne reminded her, seeing the look on Serena's face.

"I know that." She said, irritated. Still his study was right next door; close enough for Serena to hear Edmund arguing with random people at all odd hours through the walls. It couldn't be that difficult for him to just stick his head in and see how miserable she felt. She didn't want to elicit any pity or compassion, really, maybe just remorse for forcing Dr. Dershaw and his useless advice on her as well as for dancing with Beryl two nights before.

"Shall I open the window?" Anne asked.

"Yes, open it, please." Tendrils of cold air breached the stiff heat of the room, chilling the side of Serena's face that faced the window.

"Are you feeling at least a little better?"

"Not really, no. Worse, if anything." She said, yawning. "I'd really like to go back to sleep, if you don't mind."

"You've slept all day, highess. Maybe the next time the doctor comes you should mention…" Anne turned around and found Serena already asleep. She yawned a little herself. She could probably sink into a chair to take a short nap without anyone noticing, and considering that she'd been awake for two days on only a few hours sleep, no one would blame her for dozing a little. Anne put down the tray she was holding, her eyelids drooping lower and lower by the second, and fell asleep.

By the time Anne woke up, the fire was out and the room was barely warm enough to keep the water from freezing.

"Bugger!" She said, hastening to shut the window and get a roaring fire started. She fanned the flames frantically, hoping that there'd been no damage done. Sweat ran down her face as she tried to make a fire large enough to warm the frigid room. She finally stood back, satisfied and just in time. There was a curt knock on the door before it opened and Dr. Dershaw and Edmund stepped in. The physician looked rather frazzled and Edmund tenser than usual. The doctor reached over and felt Serena's forehead. "Still burning hot," He muttered. "How long's it been-three, four days?"

"Well that can't be right." Edmund snapped. "Even when it's this bloody cold in the room?"

"I might need to examine her further." He said nervously. Edmund frowned, clearly dissatisfied with the doctor's answer. He had a serious frown that made him look at least ten years older, and it always conveyed more than simple displeasure. People tended to stutter and apologize when Edmund frowned.

"Oh, it's all my fault!" Anne burst out. "I left the window open. I didn't mean any harm, just wanted to let in some fresh air, and I forgot to close it!" She told Edmund.

"I see," He was much taller than Anne, and she felt her insides squirm as he looked down his nose at her. "Why don't you go wait outside, rest a little?" He asked, not unkindly.

Anne resigned to stumbling outside and waiting until either to doctor or Edmund reappeared. Her stomach was in knots, and she twisted the rag she was holding in her hands until it was nothing than a pile of shredded cloth in her lap. After what seemed like a lifetime, Edmund opened the door and stepped out.

"Will she be alright?" Anne asked, springing up from her seat. "I never meant no harm, honest."

"I doubt you leaving the window open would make any difference." He said grimly. "It's the Deradorian Fever."

The doctor emerged and handed Anne a small vial of something reddish brown reminiscent of strong Darjeeling tea. "Try to give her a drop or two every day to keep her asleep." He told her. "There's not much more I can do." He said curtly.

"But people have caught the fever and lived." Edmund protested.

"A lucky few have. Assuming she lives another day or two, we still have to worry about what the fever will do to her mind. People have lived but never been the same." He turned to Anne. "The laudanum should keep her from hurting herself, if it comes to it."

"I told her father we'd keep her alive until he arranged something."

"Lucky for you, he died two months ago." The doctor replied. "I would worry more about how spores from the Deradorian cactus flower ended up in your castle."

* * *

**Meow, it's melodrama :D**


	8. Chapter 11

"We have to send Satarra some sort of warning." Peter said.

"No, that's a bad idea."

"All of a sudden sending word that their princess is dead is an even worse one." He told Edmund, who stopped pacing his study long enough to give him an angry scowl.

"There's no sign of her getting any worse, and according to Anne and the Doctor the chances that she going to die are much smaller now."

"She is also afraid of light, convinced that there are spirits in the shadows, and nearly killed Anne because she thought the poor girl was a bear."

"The doctor says she may snap out of it." Edmund said, his optimism bordering on the irrational.

"We have to make arrangements, Ed! In case she does get worse. Something needs to be done." Peter implored.

"I'll figure something out."

Peter snorted. "That's procrastination. Ed, you plan for everything. Why can't you do the same here?"

"Because it's not some-some drought in the west during the summer months," He said angrily. "It's whether Serena lives, dies or gets shut in an asylum for the rest of her life."

"Those are the options, yes. Now plan for them."

Edmund wheeled around. "So you're saying that we should have a grave dug before she's even dead?"

"I am not! We promised Oberon that we'd keep his daughter safe for him. You don't break promises like that."

"We didn't break a promise. She got sick. Besides, he's dead."

"You're not thinking clearly at all!" Peter said, frustrated. "Deradoria's desert is _months_ away, she can't have gotten the fever from some wind-carried spores. Someone must have done something."

"That's not the point."

"It is the point. _Someone_ has damn-near killed her. You go ahead and mope like a sad puppy, I'm finding out who." Peter stood up and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

Edmund glared at the door. Though Peter was right more often than wrong, he still didn't like any of the advice Peter gave. For some strange reason, he was reluctant to accept that Serena was more than likely to never be the same, and it unnerved him slightly. Peter was right, he did plan for everything. But why was planning for something as simple as funeral arrangements so difficult? He may have taken days to calculate how much grain would be needed to feed an entire province for sixty days in case of catastrophe, but it was in no way as hard as deciding what to do if Serena really did die. Exactly why it was so difficult for him to make arrangements evaded him, and that irritated him even more than being called a sad puppy.

He looked out the window. The sky was dreary gray to match his dreary thoughts. He moved a chair out of the way so that he could stand with his nose almost touching the glass. A ghosty reflection frowned back at him; all faint outlines and little color. He was at the strange, restless stage of his life where he wasn't quite sure of anything. He wondered exactly what he was supposed to do or say about Beryl, and whether he should be putting up with her at all. There were times where he seriously considered going on some quest-like trip on his own without any of the trappings that came with being king, and sometimes he even doubted whether he really even wanted to be one at all. He really didn't know how to feel about a myriad of things, and Serena had been one of them ever since she'd arrived a few years ago. There was no real aspect of her person that he wondered about. He wondered about everything: what to do if she really did never recover, exactly why she was in Narnia, how eyes the color of hers could possibly exist, how her silences meant more to him than an entire speech from anyone else, and how he would feel when she left and got married.

It began to rain; huge fat globules of water that blew against the glass and made wet plunking sounds as they did. They slid down the glass in a liquid sheet, distorting the translucent patches of light on the wall behind him. He remembered being a small child and thinking that this sort of rain was caused by somebody crying a few stories above, and crying so hard that anybody who tried to look outside would see nothing but tears. Now he knew that if he went to the other side of the building, there would be no tears at all.

He blankly pulled the chair back into place before scanning his study. It wasn't exactly institutionally neat, but the papers on his desk were in haphazardly organized piles and everything was where he could immediately find it. Peter had left an empty cup on his desk, and Edmund picked it up before he left and shut the door behind him.

He observed that the courtyard was completely empty as he strode along the covered walkway bordering it. It would be, of course. The eastern courtyard was a private one, more for leisure than function, and rain was beating down mercilessly on the delicate flowers and trees Lucy and Mr. Tummnus had carefully planted. He rounded the corner and found that it wasn't as empty as he had thought it to be.

"Serena, why are you outside?" He asked, speaking loudly to be heard over the clatter of the rain. She sat at one of the fountains, regarding the sky with a faraway look and did not answer him. "You're still quite ill."

"It's raining a little hard, isn't it?" She said without looking at him.

"Yes, that's why you should come inside." She was wearing a gown of satin the color of faded roses, the sort of dress that girls everywhere dreamed of wearing someday, and it was soaked through. "You're drenched, come inside Serena."

She turned and looked at him. Clearly she heard him, but she turned back around and continued to ignore him.

"Serena." He said warningly.

"I don't see why you all of a sudden want me to come inside just because of a little drizzle."

"_You just said _that it was 'raining quite hard'_."_

"I've changed my mind. I'll come inside when I want to." She gave her head a little shake, scattering smaller droplets of water everywhere.

"And when is that, exactly?"

"I'll know when I need to come inside. I'm not a child, you know."

"I never said you were one; come inside Serena." He insisted.

"It's a strange time for you to start caring about me, the rain and I were doing quite well."

He really didn't understand how anybody could get along with rain, especially when it was freezing cold and relentlessly assailing one's skin. "If I didn't care Serena, I wouldn't be here trying to get you to come inside."

"You don't have to be, I know it's hard for you act as if you care when you really don't."

"You aren't making a shred of sense." He forcibly reminded himself that she wasn't in any state of mind to have a philosophical debate in, let alone to be reasoned with.

"You don't care, do you? You don't really give two-"

"Se_re_na!" He swore to himself as he ran into the rain. She stood up to face him. There was an angry look on her face that would have been intimidating, had she been in any fit mental state.

"Oh, now you're running into the rain for me. How touching." Her sarcasm had a painful bite to it that seemed to gnaw at both of them.

He set Peter's cup down on the lip of the fountain. "What are you thinking, Serena?" He asked desperately.

The angry look faded a little. "I think I love you."

Her words stunned him so that he couldn't possibly do or say anything, even when she pulled him down by the front of his shirt and kissed him. It took him no real thought to kiss her back enthusiastically without any inhibition of his own obligations, though, and the feeling that had been in the pit of his stomach since she arrived two years ago multiplied into some force that made him kiss even harder. It was by no means a fairy-tale kiss. It was spontaneous, ephemeral, totally unethical on his part, induced by insanity and rather shamelessly passionate.

Her skin was incredibly cold; her jawbone almost spindly in how delicate it was as he used his hand to tilt her face closer to his. The girl in his arms made no sense, and for the time being he preferred it that way. A Serena that made sense would at most throw something at him instead of kissing him for what seemed like the longest time.

He reluctantly pulled away. "You're not thinking straight." He gasped, trying to salvage the situation.

The look beneath her eyes shifted a little, and when she replied the tone was totally different from before. "You always say that, no wonder Father calls you the rational one."

His heart sank as he realized that she now thought him to be someone else entirely. "Y-yes, he does."

"I just remembered the strangest thing, Allister. Do you still remember when my horse was shot one morning while I was riding it?"

"Shot, Serena?"

"Yes, an arrow to its ribs, as Black told me. Right before I left," She continued. "One of Albion's friends told me to watch myself, you know, Chambertin's nephew."

He tried to think of what a brother would say, imagining that it was Lucy or Susan telling him this. "People have tried to kill you before?" He asked instead.

She frowned. "Weren't you there when Damian saved me from being snatched up by some burly peasant?"

"Well, yes, but-" At the moment Anne came running at him and wordlessly handed him a goblet of something and pointed frantically at Serena.

"And then Father hid me in some cottage in the mountains for months when someone set my rooms afire, remember that?"

"Here, drink something warm." He said, shoving the cup into her face despite its contents being as cold as anything else in the courtyard.

She drained it obligingly before continuing, handing him back the cup. "You visited me; that was nice of you. I only faces I saw for about a year were yours and Ms. Champlain's."

"Poor Ms. Champlain."

"She didn't like the mountains at all, nothing to gossip about, I think." She blinked a few times and stumbled where she stood. He held out his arms and caught her just as she fell unconscious.

"Laudanum?" Edmund asked Anne.

She nodded. "She's gotten suspicious of drinks when I hand them to her, she must've only pretended to drink the tea I gave her earlier today."

"How is she, other than that?" He bent so that he could pick her up and walked towards the hallway leading towards the stairs.

"Much better than yesterday, Dr. Dershaw thinks she didn't take in too many spores. He called her lucky." Anne told him, following behind.

"Hmm, good." He said, using his foot to push open the door before the spiral staircase.

"Can you manage, your majesty?" Anne asked.

He turned to look at her briefly and gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. "Peter and I carried that gigantic desk in my office up these stairs once, I think I can manage Serena, thanks." Though in reality, he wasn't sure _anyone_ could manage Serena.

They trudged up the stairs, water dripping everywhere. His rooms and Serena's were on the Eastern Tower's top floor, though his rooms and study were originally meant to be Peter's. They switched years ago, when Lucy was still quite little and often went to see Peter when she had nightmares and they'd realized that Edmund used the study more than Peter did. He was given the rooms on the tower's eastern side as a result, which Edmund liked for the privacy as much as the view.

They ascended the last step, where the team of guards at Serena's door hastened to relieve Edmund and apologize for letting her slip by them unnoticed earlier. He waved them off distractedly as he rushed into his own room to change his clothes. He wrenched open the wardrobe like he had in England so many years ago and froze, despite the neat rows of clothing that hung before him.

What exactly had he done? He couldn't explain it to anyone, not even someone as understanding as Lucy and certainly not to Serena. His lips felt detached from his person, as if they and what they'd just done didn't belong there. He hadn't been sure how to feel about Serena even before he kissed her, and it hadn't done anything to his feelings once he did other than making them even more confused. He knew better than to fool around with other countries' princesses, but something else had made him kiss her back and he hoped fervently that it wouldn't surface again. He couldn't see how he was going to worm his way out of this one, after all, Serena hadn't exactly called him by name and he'd more or less taken advantage of her confusion.

He huffed, wrenching a shirt from the rack and pulling it on. He almost wished she knew it was him, not because it would make explaining himself easier but for some other reason he couldn't quite put his finger on. What she'd said right before smashing their lips together had been ringing in his ears for at least the last half hour: _"I think I love you." _He buried one hand in his sopping wet hair before wheeling around and muttering to an empty room, "I think I do, too."

Even to himself, it sounded stupid.

* * *

I had fun writing this :D one of the biggest problems I had with the first Pourquoi Moi was that there was no character development, and I think I'm finally somewhat delving into that in this rewrite.

Thanks to **earth kid tree hugger** for pointing out that medals (chapter 9) might be anachromisms. I wikipediaed it, and the giving of medals originated in the late Middle Ages, though the kind that I wrote about weren't really widely doled out until maybe the 18th century. So I guess we're both right? Thanks to **usually mostly innocent** too, for the compliments and insight. Here's the chapter where I say that I really don't have a grudge against Peter, though I like him better in the books than in the movies. He's hopelessly gung-ho and has kinda lame lines in them. And of course I appreciate **Noel Ardnek** for almost always leaving some comment on everything I write.

(If you wrote me a review and it's not been addressed, it's probably because I write my chapters in advance and it's too late for me to reply by the time I get your review)

I just wrote half of chapter 12 on the back of an old vocab test, so once I can read my handwriting it'll definitely be up. Toodles~!


	9. Chapter 12

She descended the stairs slowly and languorously, like an aged cat would; with careful, deliberate steps. There was a translucent paleness to her, so that the less informed occupants of the hall were apt to thinking of her as a ghost for at least a split second. After all, by all accounts she should have died.

Edmund made a quarter turn in his seat, just enough for him to catch her in the corner of his eye. He couldn't face Serena, not yet. She pulled a seat between him and Lucy, sweeping the hall with a look of having finally returned from a long, difficult journey.

"Not at death's door anymore, are we?" He asked. He could feel his heart beating violently against his chest as he shakily put down his cup and turned to face her.

She smiled wanly. "Apparently not, as according to the doctor."

"He told me you had a mild cold." He said furiously.

"Yes, and my father's only a little dead." She snorted. Edmund winced internally. Making jokes over dead parents was something only Serena would do.

"I wrote to King Lune, we're sending Dershaw back to Archenland." He paused thoughtfully. "I'll have to ask around for a replacement."

"I didn't know he was quite that inept."

"Completely. I've gotten better medical advice from my carpet. The only reason you're alive is because you didn't take in that many spores-how did you, anyway?"

"What, breathe in little particles of death? I'm not sure." She said. "I don't remember much, just strange dreams and Anne crying at my bedside when I finally came around."

A mix of relief and disappointment ran through his body. He would have to explain himself anymore, which caused several awkwardly worded conversations to evaporate from his head immediately. On the other hand, at least it gave him something to start with.

He was much too practical to fall for this sort of stupidity. It was beyond stupidity. It was something he never should have done or felt. He knew that she'd be gone and married off within a year: princesses as eligible as Serena did not appear that often, and when they did people tended to make a mad dash for them. No, he was not going to interfere with that sort of thing. This whole time he had hoped she'd at least address the issue of their rather violent confrontation in the courtyard and offer up any sort of solution. Instead she had nothing; but he was still being forced the recognize that he loved her, perhaps not enough to make him drop everything and follow her to the ends of the earth or something stupid like that, but enough to be kept awake at night with visions of her smiling face in the shadows.

He frowned to himself. For her to come barreling down the stairs during the middle of lunch was a complete interruption to what should have been a productive day for him. How could he use his head for anything when it was now so hopelessly muddled? She was oblivious to all the trouble she was causing, busily engaged in a conversation with Susan. Lucy was tugging impatiently at her arm, and for a brief second Edmund wondered if his sister would be enough to convince Serena to turn any marriage proposal down and stay. His mind automatically moved to kissing her in the rain again after that, and he had to force himself to mentally recite the first paragraph of Narnia's Civil Code instead.

He felt a vein throb in his temple. He really was losing it.

* * *

"Finally back with the living, are we?" Lucy asked, grinning in spite of herself.

"I'm glad you missed me." It was just the two of them, and they blatantly ignored all decorum as a result. Lucy was comfortably sprawled on the luxurious carpet with a few cushions while Serena was free to stretch out on the sofa. Lucy's room was smaller than that of any of her siblings, but it was also no doubt the coziest. In Serena's opinion, sitting in front of the fire in Lucy's room was probably the best way to spend a winter day.

"I missed you? Oh, everyone was on pins and needles for a week." She picked a thread from the carpet and threw it into the fire. "Even Ed, and Ed's never nervous about _anything_."

"Even if I went down to the moat right now and threatened to drown you in it?" Serena suddenly wished that she'd managed to retain more memories than the few hazy ones she had. What she remembered consisted of disjointed, fuzzy-around-the-edges images that she knew neither the time nor place of. According to the doctor and everyone else, she'd slept for almost the entire two weeks, and Doctor Dershaw had dismissed most of the images as "feverish dreams concocted in a very ill state of mind". She felt a small twinge of guilt that, despite the fact that Lucy and Anne had looked after her almost exclusively while she was ill, what she remembered most clearly was Edmund telling her that it was raining.

"He'd say 'go ahead', and watch to make sure you did it right. Prat's probably already reserved a claim on my spinet."

"I can't see your brother playing the spinet."

Lucy laughed. "Don't tell him, he'd do it just to prove he can." Serena smiled and glanced over at the spinet in the corner of the room. It was a birthday gift from Peter, the sort of thing her father would have bought Serena had she showed any interest at all in playing music. Lucy's had carefully detailed woodwork and came with a matching bench, which was currently piled high with wrinkled clothes and a weary looking potted plant.

"Why do you have a fern in your room?" Serena asked.

She looked up. "It's Beryl's, she left yesterday for some place up north."

Serena felt her stomach turn. "Did she say why?" She inquired nonchalantly.

"Her mother thinks she's got better chances up there. If I remember it right, Peter said something like 'Well, I like you Beryl, but-Good God!' and Edmund beat around the bush for a while until he got to his point. I'm not sure which is worse, really."

"Why does she have to leave just because neither of your _dashing_ brothers wants to marry her?" She tried not to sound too pleased.

"Her father died and didn't leave the family much. All Beryl and her mother's got is her pretty face."

Serena stopped fiddling with the silver and seed pearl bracelet on her wrist guiltily. "I wish she hadn't left so early, I could have at least arranged something for her in Satarra."

"Where every available bachelor is busy clamoring for you? The poor girl will end up married to a cowherd."

"Please don't remind me."

"Don't you at least get to say no if he's old and boring?"

Serena flinched. "I can say no all I want, but it really won't make a difference if he's rich enough."

"I can't believe it." Lucy punched at a cushion. "I actually get to choose, and there's no one groveling at my feet. Wish I looked like Susan, or you."

"You're still few years younger than her. Besides, Peter, Susan and Edmund didn't turn out that badly; I don't see why you're going to be an exception."

"I'm still always going to be the little one." Said Lucy morosely.

"So am I. Damian's seventeen years older than I am."

"Can you _not_ go? We can forge Peter's signature and say that, unfortunately, you died. Then we could hide you away in the tower and you won't have to marry moldy old rich men."

Serena laughed. "I'm sure Peter would appreciate us putting the blame on his head."

"No, really," Lucy said seriously. "I'd do it!"

Serena silently gazed at the fire with an unreadable expression. She tore her eyes from the flames to look up at Lucy after a pregnant pause. "You could always come visit me."

"There's no way out of it for you, is there?"

She shook her head.

"Right," Said Lucy, hugging a cushion close and burying her chin in it. "Can we talk about something else?"

"I should give you the book you lent me back, I've had it in my room for weeks."

"We could go get it now." Lucy suggested, putting down the cushion and standing up. Serena stood up much slower; she couldn't possibly keep up with Lucy's pace after having been confined to bed for the last two weeks.

"Don't you hate the top floor? The ceiling's so high, it must be drafty." Lucy commented as they ascended the spiral staircase, looking up at what the tower's ceiling, which extended for about two stories before tapering into a sharp point.

"It's not that bad. The windows let in a lot of light during the day."

"Yours do. Ed's got his blocked by all the huge bookshelves. One day he's going to fall while trying to find a dictionary."

Serena always found it amusing that despite having floor-to-ceiling bookshelves all around his room and study, Edmund still had books piled on every available surface. In fact, books seemed to be the one thing he was ever disorganized about.

A page came running after them-his cloven feet making a rapid clip-clopping sound as he scurried up the stairs-with a carefully wrapped package in his hands, panting furiously. "A courier just brought this in for you, Princess. He said that a man in a tavern paid him in gold to have it delivered to you."

"Thank him for me." Serena said, taking it into her arms. It felt like an especially heavy (and lumpy!) down quilt. She opened the door to her room and set it down on her writing desk. She rummaged around for something to cut the strings with, finally coming up with a pair of delicate silver sewing scissors.

"That is not a letter opener."

She shrugged. "Best I could do." She unwrapped the package.

Lucy bent to get a better look. "Is that…?"

* * *

Edmund had been just about to disappear into his room to finish writing a letter to King Lune when he spotted Serena and his sister staring at something on her desk through the doorway.

"What's wrong?" There was a lumpy mass of black on her desk.

"Come and see." Lucy said, pointing at it.

He walked inside the room and looked over her shoulder. "Crows," He said, counting. "Five of them. A murder of crows."

"What?"

"A murder of crows. It's old English for describing a group of crows, such as when there's five of them, except it was originally spelled with a-"

"Shut up, Ed." Said Lucy irritably, looking up at Serena.

"Don't crows predict death?" She asked, gingerly picking one up by its leg and holding it at arm's length.

"Put that down." He said sharply, not answering her question. "Somebody's a little unfortunate." Its neck was bent at a sinister angle as it dangled limply, and it smelled of cold, musty places that Edmund hoped to never end up in.

"Me or the crows?" Asked Serena casually, "This isn't very enjoyable for either of us."

"Technically, they're dead. I don't know if they can enjoy themselves or not. Who sent them to you?"

"The page said some man paid a courier to bring this to her. We don't know who." Lucy answered for her.

"Well then." He said, hastily rewrapping the package and clearing stray feathers from Serena's desk, "I guess you can't send him a thank you note."

"Pity. It looks like he went through some trouble to get them to me."

"I can't believe you two." Lucy said, elbowing Edmund out of the way as she left the room.

"I forgot; she doesn't really like the idea of killing animals." Serena said guiltily.

"Especially when it's to scare you." He replied, glancing at her. It was the first time since kissing her that he'd been alone with Serena. He felt the room grow warmer as he spoke. "You don't look too shaken up, but are you?"

"No," She said, unblinkingly looking him in the eye. "I don't think I am."

"Really? Someone goes through the trouble of breaking five birds' necks, has them delivered to you as an omen of death, and it's not going to bother you at all?"

"No." She picked up the package and set it down outside in the hallway for emphasis.

"I have trouble believing that, Serena. Do you realize that you just nearly died?" _And you kissed me_, he added silently.

"Thank you for reminding me." She said, sounding annoyed.

"And now someone's sent you a _murder_ of crows?" He pointed at the package.

"Evidently."

He started to say something, then changed his mind and instead shook his head. There was nothing less productive than trying to argue a point with Serena. She looked quite sure she wasn't the least bit afraid, and there was no point in trying to convince her otherwise.

"You amaze me." He said, meaning every word.

* * *

As the writer, of course I will make it so that Serena completely forgets everything. It's not a good romance if it's _that_ easy. I don't mean for the last chapter to be pointless, tho. I've always thought of Edmund as the type of guy who needs a hell of a wakeup call to actually understand this stuff. ("this stuff" meaning he's a wee bit in love with her)

**Usually mostly innocent** pointed out to me that all problems would have gone poof if anyone had been smart enough to think of Lucy's cordial…anyone meaning me. I think the only reason no one bothered to think of it was that they didn't find out that she could die until a while after she got sick, since the doctor's an idiot. Laudanum was used during the yellow fever epidemic, and I like to think of Deradorian Brain Fever as some strange variant of it (a variant in which the victim is not only severely debilitated, but also loses it a little…it's a stretch, I know) Well, I guess I semi-justified the laudanum, though I realize I haven't really explained why nobody thought of Lucy's cordial. I guess we can apply the age-old excuse here: "I forgot."


	10. Chapter 13

Edmund had always taken pride in his own decision-making abilities. Deciding on what to do had always been the bane of many a ruler, but Edmund hardly ever had trouble looking at every situation rationally and coming to a reasonable conclusion. He was everyone's go-to authority on making a decision. If Peter asked him what to do when the Northern Giants send envoys demanding land for themselves and no one else in Narnia during breakfast, Edmund would have a thoroughly thought out answer by lunch. He could figure out when to raise taxes on flour and what to name Lucy's new kitten (Mesut or Paws?) in one day, and even tell Susan which gown she would look better in while he was at it.

He had absolutely no idea, though, over what to do about Serena. On one hand, he was quite sure she was probably about engaged to some faceless stranger at this point. On the other hand, he didn't think he'd be able to focus on _anything_ or behave normally unless he received some sort of clarification from her. He'd dropped a sheaf of papers while trying to dictate a letter to the giant-hummingbird of a clerk fluttering at his side and simultaneously argue with Peter over what greeting to use the other day and walked headlong into her in his confusion. The bemused smile she gave him as she helped him pick some of the papers up was enough to make him worry that his heart might just stop beating altogether.

It was ridiculous. There was obviously someone trying to kill her and no doubt the most eligible bachelor on their side of the world had laid some kind of claim on her. And yet the only thing he bothered to think about around Serena was kissing her in the rain.

Some days he resolved to somehow mention their (at the moment, nonexistent) relationship, and some days he tried vainly to convince himself to focus his attentions elsewhere. Trying to tell Serena about "it" took more than sheer nerves, however. He hadn't quite pegged her as the oblivious type, but experience had taught him that she was. There was no way for him to sidle up to the topic so that she could fill in the blanks on her own. Metaphorically speaking, she'd not only need the blanks filled in for her, but a definition for every word in the sentence as well.

The door to his study crashed open. "Ed, they're about to clear away what's left of lunch. Do you plan on eating or not?" Lucy asked.

He'd been deep in thought, but there was nothing like a mundane word such as "eating" to bring someone very quickly back to Earth. He didn't fancy having to sneak into the kitchen for food later, where the head cook (a very large black bear) would threaten to eat him alive the next time he missed a meal and needed her to knock something together for him.

The dining room was very quiet when he and Lucy got there. Peter was reading something silently while Susan busied herself with a flaky-looking pastry. Serena was absentmindedly looking out the window as she stirred the half-eaten bowl of soup in front of her. She had a delicate looking grip on the handle of her spoon, and seemed to be moving all the carrots into the left side of her bowl.

"I don't like carrots, either." He said sitting down next to her and across from Peter.

"Then don't say I didn't warn you about the soup." She responded, tearing her gaze away from the landscape outside to give her bowl a disapproving glance.

"What happened to eating everything out of politeness?" Susan asked.

"It doesn't really apply to spoiled princesses." Serena replied, frowning a little.

"You know, I think I'll be one in the next life." Said Peter. "Remember when we had to drink that _really _strong beer when we visited the Black Dwarves, Ed?"

"Ugh." He shook his head. "As a matter of fact, I don't. I think we both know why."

"I told you to have something to eat beforehand." Peter smirked.

"It sounds like a nice job for you, Peter," Said Lucy, diverting everyone's attention from Edmund. "I imagine you'd be a wonderful princess. Not having to eat what you don't want to, looking pretty all the time, twirling around in your ballet shoes,-"

"-Getting married off to whomever's done something useful for the crown…" Serena added.

"Define useful," Edmund said thoughtfully, "Me keeping you alive all this time should count as useful."

"Damian has a six year old daughter, if that's your thing." She replied. _Good one,_ Peter mouthed to her from across the table.

"You're only twelve years older than your niece?" He asked, rapidly changing the subject.

"He has a son who's fourteen, too." Serena said. "We used to have classical literature lessons together."

"That sounds embarrassing." Said Susan, smiling a little.

No, thought Edmund. Compared to what he'd just said, having literature lessons with one's nephew was the furthest thing from embarrassing.

"Oh, Ed I need you to help me sort through the birthday presents they've started sending me." Susan added, poking him in the shoulder.

"Why me?"

"Because," She rolled her eyes. "It's what you do."

There really wasn't any use in arguing, and he'd really do anything to get out of the room at this point.

"No time like the present." He abruptly dropped his fork and pushed back his seat, even going as far as to pull back Susan's chair for her.

She beamed at the gesture. "Why hasn't anybody tried to marry you yet? Must be because you're related to Peter." She muttered to Lucy and Serena.

* * *

"What's that pile for?" Edmund asked, pointing at a collection of random looking articles in the corner of Susan's room.

"It's the ones that were sent anonymously. They're a pain, really."

"Because you can't send a thank you note?"

"No, because I don't know who they're from." Said Susan irritatedly.

"Isn't that sort of what I meant?"

"Look at this." She threw a velvet covered box at him, which he barely managed to catch. He opened it to find an egg-sized ruby strung on a heavy golden chain. It was the sort of thing Serena would have called gauche, and he agreed with her.

"Well that's…nice."

"I have no idea who sent it!"

"That's…too bad. And a security issue." He added.

"I wish I knew! Why is it so hard for men to just say things?"

"To be fair, a woman could have sent it." He pointed out.

"It's so annoying when they want you to figure everything out for yourself." Susan sniffed, crossing her arms. "It's not like I plan to hold it against him if I don't appreciate the present."

"Do women really think that?" Edmund asked, picking up a gold and cloisonné vase.

"For God's sake you've got two sisters. How do you not know that?"

"Looks expensive." He said, inspecting the intricate artwork.

"If I were a man deeply in love with-well-me, I'd ask myself to dance next time there's a ball and immerse myself in a very interesting conversation. And then the next day, I'd come running to meet myself and say that I cannot imagine a life without me and-"

"That sounds a little narcissistic, don't you think?"

"Well, what would you do?"

"I don't know." Said Edmund truthfully.

"And this is why Peter gets all the attention whenever any woman visits."

"I would be a wonderful eccentric bachelor of an uncle."

"I'm trying to think of what Peter would say in this situation: 'Don't be such a nancy, just do it.' That sounds about right." She said. "Did you get that, Ed?"

"I'm quite sure I did."

"Good. I'd hate to see a face like yours become that of a bachelor's."

He flushed a little, even though he knew he shouldn't have. It didn't really count as a compliment when it was from your own sister.

By the time he'd finished cataloging Susan's presents and helped her write what seemed like dozens of thank you notes, he decided that next time Serena was in a charitable mood, he might as well go ahead and say that he _really_ wouldn't like it if she left.

He crossed his fingers for rain.

* * *

**Meow. I love the name Mesut for a cat. It's so regal and cute at the same time. I also like the name Chesterfield for a hampster. If you'd be so kind as to leave a review, I might just tell you who the name Campbell would be for :D (Wow, this is extortion)**

** AND I WANNA TELL EVERYONE ABOUT HOW MUCH I THINK BRENDAN HINES (Eli Loker from Lie To Me) WOULD BE AN AWESOME GROWN-UP EDMUND!**

**Anyway, now that I've calmed down a little...I chose to write about Ed because of the way he gets described in the end of The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, and I really liked him even more in The Horse and His Boy. I like Skandar Keynes as Edmund in the movies, but if I got to pick anybody for the movies that involve grown-up Ed, I totally support Brendan Hines. He's just got this sort of body language that's really relaxed and alert at the same time. (is this weird of me?) Also he does great sarcasm, and I love his hair. Anyway, either watch him on youtube or look at his wikipedia photo, and see if you kinda get what I mean. (I also think that Bradley James from Merlin on BBC would be a way better Peter. I have trouble taking William Moseley seriously sometimes...don't kill me!)**


	11. Chapter 14

It was a relatively quiet afternoon for the Pevensies. The snow outdoors meant that hardly anyone or anything was getting to Cair Paravel, and the lack of disturbance meant that even Edmund could afford to take an afternoon off. Though in reality, Lucy and Peter had more or less forced him into it by bringing all the activity into his study.

Peter, who had started all of this, was now reading a book he'd pulled from Edmund's shelf with an expression of mild distaste, and Lucy curled up in front of the fire sketching the vase Susan had received a few weeks ago.

Edmund played chess with Serena. He was winning too. Serena was down to her last few pieces, and he'd taken her queen on his fourth turn. She didn't have much of an attention span, often resorting to looking out the window boredly as he mulled over his next move. She'd started the game by moving her pawns around haphazardly, but now that she didn't have many left she seemed to be slowing down and thinking things over a bit more.

Serena was observing the snow as it piled up against the side of the castle garden's wall now, her face both blank and pensive.

He made an annoyed sound as he tried to get his queen to stand correctly on its square. For some reason it kept tipping over like a drunk.

"Here," She said, knocking his hand out of the way and delicately picking it up by its top. She set it down gently, where it stood without the barest wobble.

He raised his eyebrows. "Is that how you do it? It _is_ your chess set." He used a mock accusatory tone.

"My father's actually. The gold queen's a little finicky, though. You have to place it by the ruby on her top."

"Anyway, thanks." He said, using the queen she'd help him plant to take her bishop.

"Ed's never going to let you win." Lucy said, looking up from her sketchpad. "He's slower than a dead turtle in quicksand, but I don't think he ever loses."

"I can see that." Serena replied. There was a large pile of polished black obsidian pieces at her side and a considerably smaller pile of gold ones at his.

"How do you know he never loses?" Peter asked.

"Because he always plays draws with Oreius. Anyone who doesn't lose to that centaur in less than five minutes is good enough."

"Oh. Sorry, Serena. I hope you're not betting anything." Peter grinned at her.

"No, just the diamond ring on my finger." She replied flippantly. She waved her right hand loosely in the air, displaying what, to Edmund's relief, was _not_ an engagement ring and a pinkish gem the size of her fingernail.

"I love diamonds." He replied, taking another of her pawns and giving her an I-hope-you're-ready-to-hand-that-over kind of look.

Peter snorted. "Yeah, that'll definitely bring out your eyes. Why isn't it clear, like a diamond's supposed to be? I'd hate to see you get a diamond made of paste for all your hard work, Ed."

Serena laughed a little. "I've got a thing for imperfect diamonds, if you really need to know." She looked slightly embarrassed. "This one's actually worth a little more because pink's so rare."

Edmund felt his heart skip a beat. Serena's strange idiosyncrasies were probably what he liked most about her.

"I will never understand women and their jewelry." He turned to Peter. "Remember that Tarkheena we saw who said she'd spent her entire lifetime collecting lavender pearls for that tiny little bracelet she had on her?"

"Does she know it's really quite easy to dye pearls?" Serena asked.

"Well, yes. That's why it was so absurd-"

"Check." She said, interrupting him and pointing to where her knight was positioned to take his king.

He studied the board and frowned. As much as he hated losing, maybe if Serena won it wouldn't be all that bad. She might just be in a good enough mood for him to talk to her.

"Can I ask you something, not now, later?" Without thinking he took out her knight as he spoke with one very brave bishop. He groaned internally. There went his best chance of Serena _not_ asking him if he needed to lie down for a while once he started talking. He tried to placate himself by noting that she probably would have won if she didn't bother announcing it. That counted as a victory, didn't it?

"Of course," She said crisply, moving a rook into place. "I think we have a draw."

"Damn, I wanted that pink diamond." He said, slightly shocked that she'd nearly won with just a knight, a few pawns and two very well placed rooks. It seemed as if he'd played into a trap the entire time. He felt a vague sense of foreboding, but plowed on nonetheless. "Maybe I can ask you in the hallway, or some-"

"Dinner." Susan stuck her head in and announced.

"You can ask me after; I'm not a dessert person." Serena said, getting up and following Lucy out.

* * *

"So I heard you lost a chess game today, Ed." Susan said, smirking as she impaled vegetables on her fork.

"It was a draw."

"I feel honored to know you, Serena." Lucy said. "It's about time somebody deflated his head a bit."

"Perinore wants to talk to you early in the morning tomorrow, before he leaves for Archenland." Peter said, pointing a fork at Edmund.

"Why me?"

"He just wants to know what to say and things like that. He wanted to talk to you today, actually, but I said dinner was dinner and even you shouldn't be bothered."

"Good," Said Susan. "We can actually give Mrs. Shipley's mince pies the attention they deserve for once."

Serena agreed. Personally, she did not care much for the pie, but Edmund ended up eating alone in his study much too often. It was ridiculous how nobody in the castle would see him in days because he was practically chained to his desk. (Peter had a similar dilemma, except with greeting people in the throne room)

Edmund poked at a potato. "I don't really understand how a small pastry of dried fruits merits my undivided attention, but other than that I see your point. Maybe we'll even have a quiet Christmas this year."

Seemingly right on cue, a page sidled his way into the room. "Letter for-"

"I think I'll make it a law," Edmund announced. "The next time someone tries to interrupt my dinner, he'll get submerged in the moat for a week."

"It's mine." Serena said apologetically. She tore it open and read it quickly.

"What's it say?" Lucy asked.

She tore her eyes away from the page. "Well," She said slowly. "I don't think I'll be around for Christmas. They'll come get me a few days before."

"Why?" Lucy demanded.

"I'm getting married."

She looked around, to stunned silence. Lucy looked sad, while Peter and Susan seemed to be thinking of something to say. Edmund wore an unreadable expression, but his knife stood up at a straight ninety-degree angle where he'd stabbed it into whatever was closest to him.

A ring spilled out of the envelope. Two and a half carats, set into a band of gold and silver alloy.

She hated it.


	12. Chapter 15

"She probably doesn't even know him!" Edmund insisted.

"Actually, she does." Lucy said glumly. "She's been friends with Atari since they were ten."

"Well, _still._ That doesn't mean she-she-she-"

"Loves him? Wants to marry him? I don't think it matters."

He stopped pacing to glare at the wall in front of him, as if it were representative of all his problems.

"Why are you so worried anyway?" Lucy asked.

"Can you imagine what the wedding would be like if she didn't feel like cooperating?" He asked. Lucy laughed in spite of herself. "By the way, are you going? She did invite you."

"I don't know. Do you think you and Peter could spare me? I know Susan said she didn't want to travel that far."

"Of course you can, tell her for us to have a-a-" His mouth suddenly went dry with the idea of Serena being with someone else for the rest of her life. He strangely hoped that she'd be both miserable and happy married to Atari. Altruism and Selfishness seemed to be playing out a tight battle inside his head.

"What happened to the dictionary inside your head, Ed? You're stuttering like the squirrel that watches the orchard for us."

"I've been busy." He said quickly, picking up a sheaf of papers and rifling through them for emphasis.

There was the loud sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor from next door. Serena was packing.

"When's she leaving, again?" He asked

"Two days." Lucy replied sadly. "It's too late for anyone to change their minds."

A small bubble of hope in his chest instantly popped. It shouldn't have existed anyway, but Serena tended to make him hope for things that it was completely irrational to hope for or even dream of. He felt incredibly stupid for having hoped that maybe she'd somehow put a stop to this whole marriage business. He didn't think he'd ever felt this much self-pity, and really just wished _somebody_ would give him a good punch to the face. God knows he deserved it.

* * *

"Come in."

Serena opened the door and stepped in.

"Shouldn't you be leaving now?" He asked.

"Well, yes, but you're the only one who still owes me a good-bye, so I thought I'd come up and see you first."

"Oh. Sorry."He said contritely, though the look on his face said otherwise. "Good-bye, then."

"Yes-uhm- do come visit." Serena turned away quickly. She'd hoped Edmund would have had more to say. She wrenched open the door, almost glad it was the last time she'd have to do it.

"I'm sorry I can't make the wedding." He called after her. "I imagine you'd have been a beautiful bride."

She turned to face him. It took her a while to read his expression-sad eyes and a fake smile.

"Bye, Ed." She shut the door and descended the spiral staircase, feeling as if her heart might break.

It was blistering cold outside. Serena wrapped her arms tightly around herself as she waited for Atari. She'd actually always expected to marry him; it was an arrangement that their parents had spoke about for years. She had even reconciled herself to the fact by the time she left Satarra, but she never really realized just how little she thought of Atari until now.

She heard that after Atari's (old and senile in his last days) father died and he became the new Duke Atari, the admittedly gigantic family estate continued to be stewarded by his uncle instead of by the Duke personally, as most _competent_ landowners did. He'd grown up the way any wealthy young man in Satarra seemed to these days: social engagements, pointless sports and the most superficial of educations. Serena would not have been surprised if she'd read more books in a week than her husband-to-be had in his entire lifetime. It wasn't that Atari was a boor. He was actually tediously polite, which irked her even more. Nothing annoyed Serena (who absolutely detested those who wore dresses made with six yards of cloth when two would have sufficed) more than people who were so overly tactful it took a good day or two's thought to figure out exactly what they had been trying to say. She liked everything done efficiently, with no bombast and fanfare. Her future in-laws, on the other hand, took every opportunity to make as much fuss about things as they could. If Duke Atari ordered a new dining table, no one would so much as touch it until a proper dinner party had been arranged for its unveiling.

She tried to think of all the good things that came with marrying Atari. Even being able to see her brother and the prospects of living in Atari's palatial estate by the sea failed to convince her that she'd enjoy the rest of her life. She wasn't even sure Atari was entirely dependable, a fact highlighted by how he was hours late. Darkness fell, and the cold began to settle in at an increasingly faster pace. What happened to starting one's married life on the right foot?

She felt incredibly lonely waiting outside for Atari on her own.

The gates opened and shut, and somebody trudged over through the snow to stand at her side. She turned around, and was surprised to find Edmund. He wore a wary expression, as if he wasn't quite sure what was going on or what to say to her.

"Not here yet?"

"No." She replied. They stood in silence for a while, their breath fogging in the air.

"I'm sorry you have to wait. I know you were looking forward to the wedding." He said.

"No. I was not." She snapped at him. "I do not look forward to being taken away from here to some drafty, over-decorated chapel where some dusty old priest'll ask me if I want to be the perfect wife to the perfect husband. I do not look forward to spending the rest of my life in a glorified fortress. I do not look forward to meeting his mother and having to call her "mother". I do not look forward to being treated like-like a particularly expensive crystal vase for the rest of my life. I do not look forward to having horrible children who'll probably come out with the worst of both our qualities, and I most certainly do not look forward to marrying some idiot I really don't care for."

The corners of his mouth twitched into a bemused half smile that quickly faded into a solemn mien as she finished her tirade. "Tomorrow morning, Serena. Go to bed, don't bother unpacking. He'll be here in the morning." He shoved his hands into his pockets and peered into the woods.

"I really don't look forward to it." She reiterated before turning around and going back into the castle, leaving Edmund to stand alone in front of the gates.

* * *

Serena was sitting at her usual spot at the breakfast table when Edmund arrived downstairs.

"Well, this is early." He said.

"A messenger came for me at dawn." Her eyes were distant and distracted.

"What'd he say?"

"I'm not marrying Atari."

"Why?" It was almost good news, if it weren't for her lachrymose attitude.

"Nothing cancels a wedding like a knife to the back." She said. "His valet found him facedown. With a dagger still stuck in him. They tied him so that he drowned in his own blood."

There was a long silence. "I know he's not alright," Edmund finally said. "But are you?"

"Just," She heaved a sigh. "fine. I'm fine."

"I guess you're staying here for a while longer, then."

"I thought I was the one who was supposed to die."

"We're all supposed to die." He replied shortly. "Some just sooner than others." He had trouble masking just how relieved he was that she wasn't marrying Atari. It was wrong of him, yes, but she hadn't seemed very eager to marry him anyway.

She put her spoon down with a clatter and stood up. He felt as if his heart was being compacted and wrung dry as she left the room without giving him so much as a backward glance. Susan had always reminded him that there was a time for wit and a time when overbearing sympathy was more appreciated. He had sort of hoped that Serena wouldn't be bothered enough to fail to at least find it semi-amusing. Apparently he was wrong.

* * *

**So I just spent a great day with my friend in Greenwich Village today, and bought an adorable necklace from Marc Jacobs. Then we went to the Metropolitan, which had a really great collection of paintings by El Greco. New favorite painter! (Along with Monet and Van Gogh...)**

**And then my day came crashing down when I discovered that somebody stole the Marc Jacobs necklace right out of my bag while I was reading a map at the subway station. Can you say heartbreak? (At least it wasn't terribly expensive...Marc by Marc Jacobs has some under $20 accessories)**

**So if you think this chapter is especially poignant, it's because I was heartbroken while I wrote it. **


	13. Chapter 16

Serena had hoped fervently for any kind of reason not to have to marry Atari, but she hadn't expected her wishful thinking to be fatal. She didn't really believe that she'd caused his death by hoping not to marry him, but she felt ridiculous amounts of guilt hanging over her head all the same.

The forest was almost mournful in its stillness. The distant, dirge-like song of a bird sporadically broke the silence, but the forest was still a bastion of solitude.

She walked through the forest morosely. She wasn't in the mood for any company, and had tied Star to a tree a while back. Her fingers tapped nervously at the trunk of a poplar as she passed by. It showed its displeasure by shaking its lowest branches and showering her in yellow-gold leaves.

"Sorry!" She said, more out of irritation than any genuine remorse.

There was a high pitched giggle. Trees did not giggle. She whirled around to find-as Lucy had previously explained to her-an imp. It was barely three feet tall, with an intelligent, pointed face. It also had a sinister smile and a wicked looking flint dagger in one hand. It beckoned at her with one long, brittle finger.

She backed away cautiously. While Serena found satyrs quite lovable and naiads very pretty, she wasn't very fond of imps, especially those with knives in their hands. It bared its mossy teeth, which were presumably meant to be sunk into her flesh the second her heart stopped beating.

Serena turned and ran, weaving her way through the trees and slipping on fallen leaves. The imp chased her, its short legs almost a blur as it did. It held the dagger above its head and trained on her back. The forest was sparse in early spring, and there was nowhere to hide.

It chased her agonizingly far. Serena could feel her legs shaking with both fear and weariness, and she gulped huge mouthfuls of air. She wasn't sure how much longer she could continue running. The forest seemed to go on forever, and she seriously doubted anyone would find her before the imp reduced her to a pile of bleached bones.

She didn't dare look up. She kept her eyes on her feet, knowing that a single misstep would kill her. Suddenly, she bumped into something, which briefly recoiled before wrapping some sort of appendage around her shoulder. Great. If she was going to be killed and eaten, she should at least have been given the chance to put up some sort of struggle.

"There you are, Serena." Edmund said, grimacing. She'd run headlong into his chest. "Star came back to castle without you, we all thought something happened."

"I-immp." She managed between heaving breaths.

"Im-?" His puzzled expression instantly turned into one of alarm as he spotted the imp standing a few feet away.

It looked directly at Serena, and raised its knife at her in an almost sinister salute before melting away in the sun.

"Hey! Stop! I'm ordering you as k-" He eyed the area where the imp had just been cautiously before turning around to face Serena. "What happened?"

"I was just walking. It snuck up behind me, and I ran." She explained shakily.

"You outran an imp?" He asked, raising his eyebrows.

"I guess, I think it disappeared because of you, though. Are you surprised?"

"No." He almost smiled. "I'm…impressed."

"You should be." She said. "Atari hasn't been dead a week and someone's already trying to do me in again."

"Admittedly, you're making it quite hard for him."

"I'm just lucky."She said. "I should have died about four times by now."

"But here you are, alive and breathing." He pointed out.

"And I'm not supposed to be! I can't handle this. I'm not-not-" For God's sake, she was a spoiled princess, not some tournament-winning knight, or even his squire. Handling death threats and _things_ bent on killing her were not part of her repertoire.

"I don't think you realize just how…brilliant you are, Serena." He said seriously.

"If I were I would have figured out who's been trying to kill me all this time." The idea that there was still some dark figure in the shadows trying to murder her was a scary one.

"Would you like me to shut you in the dungeons until you do know?"

"Stop being a useless sod, Edmund!" She snapped at him. "Sarcasm doesn't solve any of my problems."

"I can see that." He said dryly, though he looked a little rattled by her sudden outburst. "And how am I supposed to be a useful non-sod?"

"I don't know!" She said wildly. "Do something? Tell me what to do?"

He fixed her with a very blue stare. The sky above their heads looked faded in comparison. He had deep, deep blue-gray eyes that resembled an endless ocean on a stormy day, and they also seemed to be fairly magnetic. "You look scared, Serena."

"I am not!" She insisted. "I'm just extremely, extremely overwhelmed."

"You know, I tend to get scared when I'm overwhelmed." He continued to gaze at her. Dear God, why didn't Edmund blink at all, like a normal person?

"That's not the same thing."

"You're right. It's not." He looked away.

Serena realized now that she missed her father immensely. King Oberon may have been somewhat overbearing, but he'd always taken care of her. She'd never had to do what she was doing now: pretending to be absolutely fine. But she wasn't fine, and Edmund was right. She felt something wet slide down the side of her face.

She wiped away the tear angrily. Serena firmly refused to cry, even when she was alone.

"You might as well go ahead." Edmund said. "I can always pretend I never saw." His face and tone were neutral, making it incredibly easy to believe him.

Instead she took in a giant breath, as if air alone could suppress both the tears and her fear. She imagined a soothing calm shh-ing her. In her mind, calm was a pale mint green that tasted of amaretto, and she was floating in it.

She blinked the tears away, and let a thin cover of composure slide over her face. There. There was no longer a leak in the dam.

Edmund frowned. He considered her newly composed face for a moment before pulling her in by the elbows and letting her rest her face against his shoulder.

Suddenly, all the tears that she'd fought back came spilling out again, and Serena felt herself cry for what seemed like the first time since her mother died.

* * *

Edmund cursed to himself inwardly. He'd actually meant to kiss her, tell her everything, and maybe find that she completely understood and agreed with him, and then….and then what? He wasn't exactly looking to convince her that none of her suitors could possibly be measure up to himself, and that she ought to marry him instead. When did the idea of _marriage_ even pop into his head?

Still, she looked like she needed a good cry over some (probably unwanted) confession of love. She shook as she cried, and Edmund tried to think of all the times someone had put poison in her cup, or sent menacing creatures to scare, if not kill her. He could count four, five, six times when Serena must've been frightened out of her mind but chose to act like nothing had happened. There were probably even more when she'd been in Satarra.

He could tell from the way she was breathing that Serena wasn't trying to make the sobbing stop for once, and he wasn't about to in any way prevent her from doing what she probably had needed to for years. He remembered that the last time he'd been this close to her; she'd been completely out of her mind. This time she was actually in one of a normal human being.

She deserved the chance to cry more than anyone. She should have when she was forced to leave home, when she found out her father was going to die, when her father did die, when someone sent her dead birds to warn her that she was going to die, when her best friend and fiancé was found dead, and when the imp had chased her through the woods with an intent to make her its dinner.

He didn't think she realized that she was crying, or that she was doing it into his shoulder with her arms tightly around his neck. If she did she probably would have stopped immediately, and cathartically reminded him to _not tell anyone_. Crying was probably the only thing she could do at the moment, and if he were in her position it probably would have been the same for him.

"I'm sorry." She finally said, her voice muffled by his shirt.

He nodded. He wasn't quite sure of what to say in this kind of situation.

She let go of him and took a small step back. Her eyes were red and her face was sad.

"Ms. Champlain let me cry for about two seconds when she told me my mother was dead." She said quietly. "And then she told me to never do it again."

"She'll just have to punish us both. "

"I hope you like writing ten pages on why it's unseemly for any self-respecting princess to cry."

"I have some very small sheets of paper and large handwriting." He assured her.

* * *

(A/N): I've been slowing down with the updates lately, mostly because of summer homework and writer's block. I really want to finish this story plus edit/complete its sequel before the new year so that I can get started on other projects.

Thanks to all of you for your reviews and reading this story, it really makes writing worth it.


	14. Chapter 17

**Yes. I am rewriting this chapter, and the one after it. I wasn't too fond with some parts of it, and this is how I'd rather have it go; though some parts have been sort of recycled. The middle part of this chapter, for example, is right out of the old chapter 17, but the rest is new. So please bear with me! **

**(PS: If you want to review this, but already have before and FFN won't let you review the same chapter twice, you can always leave a review for one of the earlier chapters, which you probably didn't review before. Tip from Off Dreaming. Thank the dinosaurs for her.)**

* * *

Serena was simply furious with herself. There were so many better things to do in front of Edmund (talk to him, laugh at him, argue with him, _kiss him_), and she had chosen to _cry._ She didn't have a single good reason as to why she'd done it.

Maybe it was because she hadn't felt so scared after he pulled her into a hug, and ironically, not being scared made it easier to cry about being scared. Logically, it made no sense. Neither did his response, since Serena never thought she'd appreciate it when someone did absolutely nothing to placate her.

And furthermore, wasn't this _all_ her fault anyway? What was she doing, taking risks that grown men twice her age would never even think about? Serena had thought everything through, but that didn't change the fact that what she was doing frightened even herself.

Atari's death shook her more than she'd ever let on—that people would die because of her plans hadn't quite occurred to her before. Now she was wracked with guilt and tearing across the Narnian countryside in an attempt to find out exactly what had happened to Atari. It was obvious that he was killed to prevent her from marrying him—not that she wanted to, anyway—and Serena was more than sure that _his_ assassin could very well become her own if the murderer wasn't properly dealt with.

Edmund would probably kill her, but he didn't have to know, did he? In fact, Serena thought bitterly, there were many things Edmund didn't know. Sometimes she even thought he didn't want to.

She slid off Star's back and walked with her horse at a slow, peaceful pace. It was ridiculous how she was putting herself in considerable danger, and the only thing she was _really_ worried about was Edmund's reaction. If he was in a good mood, he'd probably just be an angry eleven on a scale of one to ten.

He was the reason, Serena knew, that she had hated the prospect of marrying Atari. She'd long ago accepted the fact that she'd have to marry him. Serena considered it the sort of thing she owed her father for loving her more than life.

But Oberon was dead. It didn't mean Serena forgot about promising her father that she'd be a good daughter and marry Atari. She just suddenly felt that there was no way she could grow into being Atari's happily married wife, and it had nothing to do with whether Oberon was alive or not. She was convinced that the second she married Atari all the good things in the world (sunshine, ocean waves, _puppies_) would evaporate from her life. She knew it to be completely untrue, of course. None of that would be missing from her life, but Edmund, and everything he meant to her, would be.

For Serena, that was almost too much to give up, even if she had promised her father.

There was the sound of somebody behind her, and she intuitively knew who it was.

She turned around, exasperated. "How'd you know?"

"You're the only one who rides that fast, sidesaddle." Edmund said matter-of-factly. "Also you stopped to chat with a guardsman by the gate, who conveniently reports to me ever couple of hours or so."

If Atari were still alive, Serena would have written down what Edmund had just said and sent it to him. _That _was how to run a castle. Atari probably didn't even know how many guards were being employed at his estate.

"Alright, what time is it?" She asked.

"Around four in the afternoon." He replied.

She thought about it for a brief moment. "I guess that means that, provided we get back to the castle in under an hour, you'll have about twenty minutes to chastise me before dinner. And then I'll just try again tomorrow morning." She hadn't expected to escape that effortlessly the first time anyway, and she was quite sure both of them knew that she didn't give up that easily.

He looked pensive for a moment. His unruly black hair tumbled down his forehead, practically begging to be pushed back by some woman's trembling fingers. "Twenty minutes sounds like more than enough. But I was actually wondering where you were going, and decided that maybe I'd just let you." He said lightly.

"Atari's dead, and I want to know who killed him."

His face darkened, and his buoyant tone disappeared. "Didn't they tell you that the killer got away?"

"Yes, but people do lie, you know."

He wheeled around and glared at a tree.

"Sorry, was that a little too misanthropic?"

He looked at her disparagingly. "You'd think, that after all the trouble people are going through to keep you alive, you wouldn't decide to go out and practically ask to be killed."

"I _can_ take care of myself." She said indignantly.

"Oh yes, that's very apparent." He replied, with no lack of sarcasm. "You just _accidentally_ stumbled upon what may be the only imp left in Narnia."

"Atari didn't deserve to die, especially the way he did."

"This isn't about Atari!"

"Then what is it about?"

"He's _dead_." Edmund said angrily. "God knows why you care about dead people so much."

"You don't understand; somebody killed him because he was marrying me."

"Well, maybe he killed himself, for all I care. If I had to marry you, I'd do it too."

Serena ignored his remark. "He died because of me. I think that's a good enough reason for me to find out who's been behind all this."

"_Atari _is a good enough reason?"

"Well, no, but—yes. I can't just assume things; he had to have died for _some_ reason."

"Everyone dies for a reason." Edmund replied shortly. "I don't see why you have to make it a case for Atari."

"Because it's _Atari_, and—"

"'Because it's Atari'." He repeated, sounding like there was something bitter in his mouth.

"Atari meant a lot more than—"

"I don't give a _damn_ for how much Atari meant to you, you're not going out and getting hurt over a dead body."

The look on his face said that he would have no qualms about dragging her, kicking and screaming, back to the castle. But there was more than that etched into his expression.

"Yes, you do." Serena said, stepping closer so that she could glare into his eyes and make her point.

"I do _what_, exactly?"

"You do give a damn, and _maybe_, you shouldn't."

"I shouldn't? Because I should just _let you_ walk straight into some death trap, and—"

"That was the original plan, yes." She responded dryly.

"It was the original plan before I knew how absolutely stupid you were being."

"I'm not being stupid! It makes perfect sense, and if you could just—"

"It's stupid." He said flatly.

"You're ridiculous." Serena was beginning to forget why she'd ever considered Edmund the least bit bearable, much less attractive.

"I'm the ridiculous one here? Are you even listening to yourself—?"

"If you could just _think_ about it for a second—"

"First of all, Atari is dead. Second, he's dead. Third, _he's—" _

"I know he's dead! But if he were alive I wouldn't even—"

"I'm perfectly aware of how much you wish Atari was still alive, but—"

"Why do we keep coming back to Atari?" She demanded.

"Because, I…" He trailed off. There was a wildly conflicted look in his eyes that Serena had never seen before. Edmund was always so sure, so able to say things that other people couldn't even begin to think of how to express.

"I don't care about Atari." She told him bluntly.

What happened a split second later, Serena couldn't even begin to fathom. She wasn't sure if she had pushed his face into hers, or if he'd pulled her towards him. But she was kissing him all the same, and it was just like she'd imagined it, except this time it didn't feel quite so _real_.

She kept finding herself breathless and needing air, but she kept going back for more all the same. It was a testament to the efficacy of her childhood ballet lessons that her feet didn't give way beneath her as she stood on her tiptoes and every thought drained from her head.

There was a pause, a brief intake of breath. Just long enough for him to press her back into a tree. She vined around him, weaving one hand into his already messy hair. If he wanted to pull himself away and try to say that nothing had every happened, he would have to extricate himself first. He tasted like salt, if salt could describe things that there were no words for. There was just enough function left in her mind for her to tell herself that she _known _it. Known it all along.

"I love you," He gasped between kisses. "Love you, and every wonderful, insane—"

"I—" She stopped long enough to reply, but just as abruptly as their kiss had began, it ended.

He took a several steps backward. "That wasn't supposed to happen." There was a look of real regret in his eyes, but Serena couldn't help but think that she saw a pained look mixed in.

"Are you _really_ going to—"

"You-you're marrying someone else. Not me, I'm the last person to…" His voice faded, and he refused to look at her. "Anyway, you can't. And I can't, either. I was specifically asked, and they are going to find someone else for you, someone other than me, and—"

"You can't be serious." She hadn't ever thought she could go from angry to happy to angry again so quickly, and more than anything, it _hurt_.

"I'm absolutely serious. Serena, we can talk about this, say nothing ever hap—"

"No, we can't." She snapped back, searching for where Star was watching the whole debacle, looking quite bored, despite being a horse.

Dammit, she thought angrily. Her horse was still too tired to go anywhere faster than at a trot.

Serena made a very unladylike running leap onto Edmund's own horse, a move she'd learned from secretly watching her father's mounted guard spring into action from her window.

"Don't be like that, Serena!" He shouted after her as she ignored him and urged the charger into a gallop. He made to run after her, but decided against it. "That's my horse!"


	15. Chapter 18

**I decided to rewrite these two chapters really because the old versions didn't read like the Edmund and Serena I decided to depict, and I really hope that these two are better representations. Anyway, the final chapter (Part II of the Epilogue) of Pourquoi Moi is finished, so after I do some editing it'll be up soon. Stay tuned!**

* * *

Edmund found her in the library, poring over a book by candlelight.

"We should talk." He said. Two weeks of blatantly ignoring each other, he thought, seemed to be more than enough time for her to start being reasonable.

She looked oddly at him for a brief second before shutting her book with a snap.

"Fine."

"Not here." He said, catching a dryad peering at them from behind a bookshelf in his peripheral vision. He reached out and snuffed the candle. "Outside."

She raised an elegant eyebrow. "It's nearly midnight." Serena informed him with no lack of vehemence.

"I know, but just—"

She turned on her heel and strode out the door; and as he followed after her, Edmund decided that it was going to be a long night.

"Don't think you can talk me into anything." She warned him as they made their way through the darkened forest.

"I don't." He replied. There were probably charging minotaurs easier to argue with, but he wasn't planning on arguing anyway.

"Why are we out here?" She demanded, finally turning around to look at him for the first time in a month.

Edmund took a folded up letter from his pocket and handed it to her. "He explains it better than I can, read it."

"It's dark out." She said, ignoring the paper.

"There's a full moon out, and your father's clerk has impeccable handwriting." He said impatiently, shoving the paper into her hands.

She read it quickly, and for a second Edmund thought that she had merely scanned the first paragraph before handing it back to him.

"So?"

"Your father made it clear that the only thing I'm supposed to do is keep you alive until he can arrange something suitable." _Suitable_, Edmund knew, referred to a bachelor with enough land to form his own country, and preferably even more gold. It also did not say that Serena had to like him.

"It's addressed to Peter."

"Peter wins wars. I prevent them." He said curtly. "Dealing with errant princesses isn't exactly his area of expertise. Trust me when I say that you'd prefer my approach."

"Your approach? You mean being the fifth person this week to remind me that there's some numbskull in a drafty castle that I should be prepared to marry?"

"You have to remember, Serena, that there's a lot more that needs to be considered in your case. For the Lion's sake, you're a princess."

"Yes," She said resentfully. "The old 'princes grow up to be kings, and princesses to be used as collateral' argument. Why waste money on an army when you can marry your daughter off to a warlord and hope he thinks that it'd be wrong to attack family?"

Edmund didn't know where Serena had gotten her gift for cynicism, but he couldn't help but think that whoever had given it to her had probably been bent on making his life difficult.

"It's got nothing to do with _me_, Serena. You're marrying whoever they think you should, and I won't do anything that gets in the way of that."

She turned away from him. "Well then. We have a problem, don't we?"

"We most certainly do, because—wait, _what?_" He couldn't see how something so simple could be a _problem_.

"I said 'We have a problem, don't we?'" She said crossly. "Because I happen to love you, too."

"Don't make this harder than it is." He replied sharply, though he could feel his own composure beginning to slip.

"I'm not the one making this difficult." She insisted.

"You won't even be here for that much longer, they're probably drafting a new marriage contract for you right now."

"I doubt it. The one with Atari took three years to work out. It's a lot harder when the only reason someone wants to marry you is because your dowry includes three castles at a minimum."

"That doesn't change anything." He said, though he was just as reluctant to see Serena married to someone else as she was.

"It changes plenty."

"How, exactly?" He asked, throwing his cloak down on the ground below a tree and sitting down.

"I still have time." She said. "And I have to marry someone for nothing else but land and titles anyway, does it matter what I do before that?"

"You can't use that logic."

"I can."

"I wouldn't let you." He responded.

She sat down next to him. "Would you?"

"I _can't_, Serena. I'm not supposed to, and I gave your father my word that I would—"

"I didn't ask if you _could_." She interrupted him tersely.

"I…" He stopped. Edmund realized now that he'd totally misread her expression. It was less angry than it was sad and apprehensive.

His was a losing battle, he knew. If he'd thought that she looked beautiful at the Midsummer Ball; then there was absolutely no way he could describe how she looked here, sitting next to him with nothing but the full moon to cast a silvery glow on her face.

There was really nothing he wanted more than to kiss her and feel that electric surge again, to forget that the rest of the world even existed. There was nothing—

Her fingernails dug into the back of his neck, surprising him just enough for his brain to be at least partly functional once again.

"Dammit, Serena." He said, his voice ragged and his lips still on her neck. One hand was on her shoulder, both pining her beneath him and poised to slip her dress of whispery silk from her shoulders.

He sat up, ran a hand down his face, and directed his gaze towards anything but her. Blood still pounded in his head; he had to recognize that since he'd fallen in love with Serena, he'd hardly been the same person.

He heard her exhale softly, and she began to stand up.

"No, wait." He choked out.

She sat back down next to him, and he could practically _feel_ her confusion.

"You can't, but you would." Serena said, and there was a pained sort of amusement in her voice.

"I know." He said resignedly. "Maybe if you weren't, you know…" He couldn't think of how to finish his sentence. He didn't know if he wanted to.

"If I could actually decide what I wanted for myself, you mean." She filled in.

"I just _can't_, and you've got to—"

"Nobody has to know," She offered him. "Nothing changes, really, except for the next few months I'm allowed to spend in Narnia."

He didn't reply, and she took it as his tacit response.

"It's alright if you can't," She said in a gentler tone. "We can go back to—"

"No." He spoke before he had a chance to even realize what he was saying. Turning back now, Edmund realized, was more or less impossible.

He reached out and took her hand: his wordless answer.

It was quiet, but the sky above was noisy with the flicker of stars. On any normal night he would've been searching for constellations and the like, but all he did now was search for the right words to say.

"'Peter wins wars, I prevent them.'" Serena said, quoting him. "How much of that's true?"

"Most, if not all of it." He admitted. "Peter sees everything in exactly two ways: fights he can win, and fights that he can't."

"And you?"

"The coward of the family. I look for a way out." He told her. "Peter wanted to go to war with Calormen, once—Tarkans kept raiding the border villages—and I didn't."

"Well, I do know that Peter didn't get his war. What did you do?"

"Set the granary on fire." He muttered.

She gripped his hand tighter, and bit back a laugh. "You did _what_?"

"Can't go to war if the troops aren't fed. So I set the granary on fire, and said that I'd send anyone who tried to put it out to the stockades. Because it was stupid." He explained. "I know a useless fight when I see one."

"Do you?" She asked, and he could tell that she wasn't referring to wars anymore.

"Not right away." He conceded. "God knows what possessed your father to name you Serena." If there was anything Serena wasn't, it was tranquil.

She laughed. "I was born at sea, during a storm. My father said that the one thing he wanted most at the time was peace and calm."

"Well, he didn't get it, did he?" Serena had been in his life for little more than two years, and she'd managed to turn it completely upside down. He wondered what she'd done in Satarra in the sixteen years before she'd left for Narnia.

"I suppose he didn't." She said bemusedly.

"I can live with that." He pulled her towards him, and as he kissed her, Edmund decided that he both could and would.


	16. Chapter 19

Serena woke up with her neck in a painful twist. She turned her eyes skyward. Just like her, the sun had just risen.

It took her a second or two to register that she was not in the castle. Instead, she realized, she was part of the tangle of limbs beneath a maple tree. Edmund was sleeping above her, with his chin tucked against her forehead and one of his arms was thrown around her shoulder. There was a light smattering of freckles across his nose, and he had Susan's eyelashes-the lashes that princes and kings breathlessly expressed they'd die for. His face was uncreased and unworried. Edmund looked younger than she'd ever remembered him. With all the time he spend cooped up in his office dealing with this and that crisis, people seemed to forget how young he was. Sometimes the fact that he was barely into his twenties escaped even Serena.

She didn't dare move. This was probably the first time in forever that he'd slept past the sunrise, and it occurred to her that maybe he downed cup after cup of coffee in the morning because he didn't get nearly enough sleep.

Edmund was right; it would be exceedingly difficult for her to leave Narnia and marry someone else if they continued seeing each other. But Serena was quite sure it'd be hard for her either way, especially after the way she'd despaired over the news of her impending wedding to Atari. (Which included, among other things, smashed porcelain and dresses torn out of sheer spite)

She'd done as she was told far too many times, and Serena could think of nothing better to break the pattern for.

_Good thing I'm not a perfect princess._ She thought, thinking about where she would be right now had she demurely given in to Edmund's pleas.

"Damn." He swore, blinking in the sun and working to free his arm from where it was pinned beneath her.

"Good morning to you, too." She replied drily.

He pushed himself up, bringing her with him. "Well this wasn't supposed to happen."

"We _do_ still have our clothes on." Serena pointed out.

"Not like…that." He gave her a look of mixed outrage and amusement. "You were supposed to at least _consider_ the fact that you're only staying as long as- You know what? Never mind." He stood up and squinted at the sky.

"I'd give up if I were you." She straightened up.

"I already have." He said ruefully. "You're not the first to ignore every shred of good advice I have."

"It wasn't very good advice to begin with."

Edmund shook his head and peered into the woods for lack of anything better to do. "Sometimes I think tha-" He froze for split second and put a hand on the hilt of his sword.

Serena heard a faint whizz and then a thwapping sound as the arrow hit its target. She stumbled to the ground, droplets of blood splattered on the left side of her face.

"Ed, are you-"

"Run, Serena." He said; ignoring the arrow imbedded a few inches into his shoulder. She could tell, from where she'd been standing, that if he hadn't shoved her out of the way the arrow would have ripped straight through her rib cage. A perfect, one-shot kill.

"You're ridiculous." She replied, grabbing on tightly to his other arm and dragging him out of the clearing. He stumbled after her, literally tripping over everything one could possibly trip over.

They ran for maybe fifty yards before the arrow began to slow Edmund down. She stopped long enough to let him catch his breath, but Serena knew they could only afford a moment's rest before she began to drag him after her again. She didn't feel any guilt over it, the shooter was probably still in the forest, and he wasn't going to miss her again.

They made it just a little further before they were once again forced to stop. He was completely stooped over, gasping for breath with beads of cold sweat popping up on his forehead.

"We're not going to get back to the castle like this." He rasped.

"Shut up, Ed!" She snapped back callously, yanking at his arm and continuing to run along the path.

"You're…a…terrible woman."

Serena didn't reply. She was too busy figuring out how to get back to the castle, and offering up any navigational help seemed to be the last thing on Edmund's mind at the moment. She could see Cair Paravel's tallest tower through the trees, and realized with a sinking feeling that it looked about the size of her finger.

"We're almost there." She lied, desperately pulling him along after her.

"Can I…just…have a second?"

"No!" She stopped long enough to slap him very hard across the face. She didn't feel any guilt over it either, and even derived an odd sense of satisfaction from it. "And I'll hit you again if you don't keep running."

He tightened his lips before following after her without another word, more out of lack of breath than out of fear that she'd slap him again. They actually got surprisingly far before he became too tired to continue.

"You…should just run...without me." He gasped. "Run…and get Peter. Stay…in the castle…once you get there…make sure someone's…with….you."

"Shut up, Ed!" She shot back, putting his arm over her shoulder to prevent him from falling. They stumbled through the woods together, Serena bent almost double beneath his weight.

"We….won't make it. Not like this." He said, almost apologetically.

"Yes, we will." She promised him, though any hope she had was beginning to fade. He was fighting for every breath he took and looked pale with exhaustion. All the running wasn't helping his wounds either, and there was now even more blood than before.

Even she was beginning to tire. Serena was afraid to stop running, because she was sure that if she did her own legs would give way beneath her, and Edmund was weighing more by the second.

Leaving him behind wasn't an option. There was still a shooter in the forest, and there was no way Edmund could fend for himself like this.

"Just a little further." She said pleadingly to no one in particular.

He wouldn't have stopped running if it was her with the arrow in her shoulder, Serena reminded herself, and this was all her fault anyway. It gave her just a little more of a will to keep going, but even that quickly began to fade.

The world began to blur, like paint running down a canvas. With what, exhaustion or tears, Serena didn't know. She couldn't stop, not now, even though she was now worrying about whether she herself would be able to continue, not Edmund.

She spotted the castle guards, tiny in the distance.

"Help!" She shouted hoarsely. "Help!"


	17. Chapter 20

"Would you please stop pacing? I'm starting to feel sick."

Serena stopped long enough to spare him a glance. Edmund was propped up against a small mountain of pillows with bandages swathed across his right side.

"I _know_ the shape of the arrowhead from somewhere, I've seen it before."

"Thanks for your concern." He said sarcastically. "I'm sure I'll be fine."

There was a crack across his bedside table, from when he'd smashed his fist against it upon learning that the attacker simply couldn't be found at all. Now his hand hurt too, and Serena was looking grimmer by the second.

"Didn't you at least see him before he shot you?" She asked.

"Well, yes, but I was a _little_ more preoccupied with the bow and arrow he was holding."

She shook her head and looked to the ceiling. "Lucy says she'd have gotten her cordial out of the vault, but you said not to." She turned around to fix him with an exasperated stare. "And 'said' is an understatement. Please tell me how you managed to yell at her while gasping for breath like a fish washed ashore."

"Prioritizing. Sometimes breathing just isn't all that important." He said. "I'll have to spend all of tomorrow apologizing to her, though."

"You'd better." She rearranged her skirt with a shaking hand.

"It's not that bad, you know." Edmund said.

She stared pointedly at the rag he'd almost bitten through while Peter and the doctor pulled the arrow out of his shoulder. According to the court physician, Edmund would probably never be able to reach behind his back again. Not that it bothered him much; he did have two arms, after all. He was more worried over the pained look on Serena's face.

"Really?" She asked, skepticism written all over her face.

"Well, no." He admitted. "But it's better me than you."

Her eyes were unfocused as she gazed in the vague direction of his chess set. She walked over and sat down next to him on his bed, folding her legs neatly beneath her.

"It was a stupid thing for you to do." She said as she carefully straightened the curled up edges of the bandages wrapped around his shoulder. "If you bothered to think about it rationally, you're worth a lot more than I am."

"I think it's a little late for thinking rationally."

"I'm replaceable; you're not." There was no bitterness in her tone. It was something Serena had learned to accept.

"Well, I don't think you've very replaceable."

She bit at her bottom lip. "I think I hear someone coming up the stairs." Serena finally said, getting up and giving him a kiss on the cheek. She nudged the chess set's gold queen with the tip of her finger. "I'll do the apologizing to Lucy for you; maybe you should just go to sleep."

* * *

"It looks much better." The doctor said approvingly, handing Edmund back his shirt.

"Does it?" He asked. "Peter says I've still got a hole in my back."

"Well, yes." The doctor admitted. "But it's starting to heal; it should be fixed within a month or two."

"Good. Thank you."

He pulled his shirt back on before striding out the door. The official version of events consisted of Edmund departing for an early morning walk and getting shot before Serena found him a few minutes later while on a walk of her own. It wasn't very plausible, but being king meant that no one was going to question his story.

Edmund briefly debated having lunch in the Great Hall before going back to his office. Then again, he could just have something sent up to the study instead of having to go forage for whatever lunch was left in the Hall. He turned a corner, and like clockwork Peter and Lord Perinore popped up beside him with the latest crisis.

"The Black Dwarves are upset again, sir." Perinore informed him.

"Say that nobody in Narnia trusts them, no one wants to buy their steelworks, they don't have the money to support themselves, blah blah blah." Peter said. "They want to be tax-exempted, or they'll threaten rebellion, and it's likely that the minotaurs'll support them."

Edmund snorted. "Tax evasion. Don't they know that the only two sure things in life are death and taxes?"

"Let's not get philosophical." Peter said. "Perinore and I've been spending all morning trying to come up with a solution."

"Alright, so was feeding you two this morning a waste of food or not?" Edmund demanded

Perinore winced before saying, "We think a delegation should be sent. You know, to come to some sort of agreement with the Dwarves, but it's got to look more like diplomacy than trying to stop a coup."

"We thought the girls would get the point through to everyone much better than you or me, so I'd send Susan and Lucy." Peter added.

"Unarmed, and with no guard," Said Perinore. "To emphasize that we do trust the Black Dwarves."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard." Edmund snapped. "The two of them against an entire village of heavily armed dwarves who, by the way, routinely kill each other for fun? Oh wait; it's a _great cultural tradition_ to play Cranog whenever there are more than ten drunken dwarves with sharpened sticks in the same area." He gave both Peter and Lord Perinore a derisive look.

Peter looked smug. "I told you he wouldn't like it." He said to Perinore.

"There's a way around that." Perinore hurried to add. "The Princess has her own guard…"

"…And half a dozen, well trained men should be enough. We could say that it's not Lucy's or Susan's guard, it's hers. The dwarves can't take offense to that, and the guard could look after all three of the girls." Peter continued.

"'The Princess' as in _Serena_?" Edmund asked incredulously. "You're out of your minds."

"What's wrong with it?"

"Well-" Edmund thought furiously. "Well, nothing really, but-"

He couldn't very well say that Serena had been the one the archer had aimed at two weeks ago; unless he wanted to go back on his story and explain why both of them had been in the forest together early that morning.

"Good. We'll go ask her, and if she says yes, the plan's a go." Peter said, rubbing his hands together deviously like a criminal mastermind.

"No, wait! You can't do that, she'd-she'd never agree, and how'd we explain an extra princess popping out of nowhere?" He said, desperately grasping at straws.

"She's been here for _years_," Perinore informed him. "You might not think so, but the Princess Serena is _quite_ charming."

"I wouldn't be surprised if Serena got that curmudgeon Chieftain Cynfor to give her all his grandmother's jewelry before Susan and Lucy even gets a smile out of the old bag." Peter said.

"I _know _that, but-"

"No buts. I'll go see what she says." Peter clapped him on the back before dashing towards the Great Hall with Perinore in tow.

Somewhere, Edmund decided, people were looking at his life and laughing.


	18. Chapter 21

"Here, Serena." Edmund hissed, nodding his head towards the niche between the castle gates and one of the large, thousand-gallon vats of water kept in the courtyard in case of a fire.

"We're about to leave, I hope this is quick." She said as he pulled her into the impossibly small recess.

"I can't believe you actually said yes." He said disapprovingly.

"It's _your_ sisters." Serena had that defiant look on her face again.

"Alright, fine." He conceded. "But you do realize that somebody _really_ wants you dead?"

"I don't know, I think I would, wouldn't you?"

"Just be careful. Don't do anything stupid, and make sure at least two of your guard are within shouting distance at all times." He admonished.

"I know that. Should I use Lucy as a human shield wherever I go, too?" She asked sarcastically.

"Try to use Susan instead; she'll cover more of you." He said, pulling a folded up sheet of parchment and a round box from his pocket. He unfolded the paper and pointed to its upper left corner. "The Black Dwarves live in Northwest Kalingora, it's got the iron ore they need for their steelworks. Cynfor's camp is here, in this valley." He tapped a finger on the map.

"Fine." She said, a little impatiently.

"Chieftain Cynfor's a fair enough leader; he won't do anything under the table, but watch out for the others, they can be slippery." Edmund warned her. He handed her the rounded box. "If anything happens, go south. I don't care who you have to leave behind, just head south."

"Fine." She said again, opening the box of inlaid mother-of-pearl to find an elegantly crafted compass.

"And promise me you won't go taking stupid risks or try to do stuff yourself."

"God, Ed; you sound like my father. Heaven forbid you ever become a parent."

"Se_re_na!"

"Alright, I won't." She reassured him, standing on her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss. "It'll be fine."

"We're leaving!" Lucy called from somewhere outside the gates.

"Don't worry; we'll be back in a week." She told him before running towards the waiting carriage.

* * *

Chieftain Cynfor, though stern and stony-faced, welcomed the girls with open arms. Literally. Had they been men, he probably would not have given Lucy a tight bear hug the second after introductions were made.

They were treated to the very best the Black Dwarves had to offer, though they graciously declined an invitation to watch a game of Cranog. It was only on the third day of their visit that anything official could be discussed.

After dinner (which, to Serena, consisted of anything that could be thrown into a pot with liberal amounts of salt and stewed) Susan asked for the Chieftain's attention.

"We'd like to speak to you about the taxation issue-privately, of course-we'd like to make some sort of compromise with you and your people."

Cynfor grunted and gestured for everyone to retreat from huge outdoor fire everyone was convened around, leaving only the girls and Serena's guard.

He pointed a stout finger at the guardsmen. "They'll have to go too."

"We can't-" Lucy began.

"It's fine." Serena cut in. "They can wait with the others."

It was hard enough, she knew, for Susan to negotiate anything with Cynfor, and Serena hoped that sending away the guards would put him in a better mood.

"We can't exempt the Black Dwarves from taxes." Susan said after the guards left, "But King Edmund is willing to have the treasury subsidize grain purchases by ten percent for the next three years, which will make feeding your people much easier. In addition, the Royal Army will order their weaponry and armor exclusively from your forges at a rate of at least two thousand items per annum for the next five years."

"I'm not asking for charity." Cynfor said indignantly.

"We aren't trying to provide you with any, Chieftain." She said, just as Peter and Edmund had instructed her to. "But we feel that the best way to help with your current dearth of buyers is to show others that your steelworks are among the best in the world. The treasury also routinely subsidizes grain purchases, there are some provinces in which we pay for nearly half the costs."

He stroked his beard. "To be brutally honest, we have seen nothing but trouble since you Pevensies took the throne. We were living much better before, even with the cold."

"Even so, I think what we're offering is quite fair." Susan protested. "What else could we possibly give you?"

"Mines." Cynfor grunted. "Two out of our five caved in because of all the melting snow. We need another mine if we'll have enough iron to work with."

"Alright, I'll see if I can get the treasury to loan you enough gold to begin digging." She replied, though Serena understood her answer to really mean "I'll ask Edmund."

"I don't want gold. I want _a mine._" He frowned. "Do you have any idea the trouble involved in excavating a new mine?"

"We can't possibly dig your mines for you." Susan said, frowning back. "For starters there aren't many miners in Narnia."

"We need a mine. We can do without the subsidies, but we want a mine. Or else I will begin rousing together an army."

"But-" Susan began to argue.

"Look," Serena said, motioning for Susan to stop talking. "You need materials and labor for your mines, correct?"

He nodded curtly.

"What if we provided you with those?"

Cynfor considered it. "I can agree to that."

"Then I can have the tools you need sent in; and maybe have a battalion or two of the Army come to help you do some of the heavy lifting." Susan said.

"That's alright, I wager. Then we can afford to keep some smiths in their forges while the new mine is dug."

"So it's settled, then?" Susan said, scribbling on a piece of parchment, and looking relieved. "The Army'll agree to buy equipment from your forges, and we will assist in the digging of a new mine."

"Two." He insisted.

"Two, fine." She crossed something out on the paper and rewrote it.

"I'll agree to it, it seems fair enough." He held out his hand for the paper, and just as he did, the sound of men yelling and metal hitting metal reverberated throughout the forest.

"What's going on?" Lucy demanded.

A dozen hooded horsemen stormed into the clearing and began to bear down on them. Four of them overpowered Cynfor and had him bound and gagged while the others went after the girls.

"Get out!" Serena said, pulling both Lucy and Susan up by their upper arms. They ran towards the woods, where the others were, with Susan and her long legs bringing up the front.

One of the horsemen, a particularly large, bearish one hooked an arm around Lucy's waist and started to pull her away from Susan and Serena.

"I'll get her, keep going!" Serena said, giving Susan a small shove and doubling around to help Lucy. She tugged at the arm he had around Lucy and elbowed his windpipe-hard. Choking, he dropped Lucy as he struggled to swallow some air.

Lucy started to run, expecting Serena to be beside her. She turned around just in time to see the man grab on to her ankle and yank her towards him.

She gave a valiant effort-breaking the man's nose by kicking at it as hard as she could-before he managed the tackle Serena to the ground. The man held on to his bleeding nose with one hand and swiped at her bearishly with the other.

Lucy winced, and she thought she could hear a painful crack from nearly fifty yards away one of the man's punches landed on the side of Serena's head.

"Let's go." Susan said frightfully as they watched another horseman pick up Serena's limp body.

"Someone's got to save her!" Lucy said, tears of desperation filling her eyes. "Look, they're taking Serena!"

"We can't do anything. We-We'll need the boys."

"We can't wait for them!" Lucy wrenched her arm out of Susan's grip and started to run after the crowd of horsemen.

"Don't be stupid." Susan said, grabbing a handful of Lucy's dress and digging her heels into the ground to stop her sister. "If we hurry, we might be able to get the boys here in three or four days, but we won't if you need rescuing, too"

* * *

**I have to admit, I really slow down when Edmund's not in the story. There are just lines that I could only give to him...**

**It's too bad school's starting, but I'll try to update at least once a month.**


	19. Chapter 22

The spray of the waterfall they were passing was what woke Serena up. Her head throbbed steadily, and the fact that she was upside down, with all her blood pooling in her brain didn't help. She struggled to think, but it seemed like every moving part in her mind was encased in amber. Serena couldn't remember a thing. She knew she'd been hit in the head, and she knew whoever was taking her wasn't doing it out of good intentions. Her wrists were bound, she realized, and there was a filthy rag serving as a gag around her mouth.

Serena felt panic beginning to set in, along with a wave of pain and nausea. She closed her eyes and tried to think of any possible way for her to escape, but it all was pure futility. Hers was a situation much too messy to clean up with just feeble thought.

She inhaled as deeply as she could with the gag around her mouth, and forced herself to recognize that there wasn't anything she could do. Not now, at least.

The horse whose back she was thrown over continued to run, its hooves striking up clods of yellow dirt.

_Yellow dirt and waterfalls_, she thought. And then everything began to blur and turn to black, as if she were falling into a deep hole.

* * *

"That bloody Boar," Peter grumbled, inspecting his elbow. "Must've been at least a ton, if not two."

"Yes, a two-ton boar with six-foot long tusks charged at you, and you killed it with nothing but a spearhead. Congratulations." Edmund replied boredly as they and several knights galloped through the forest.

"And you were _so_ helpful."

"It's not like you needed any help." He shrugged.

"You could've at least tossed me a spear that wasn't broken!" Peter pointed at him accusingly.

"And deprive you of your hard-earned glory? I think not."

"I'd like to wrestle you in a pond sometime, Ed. And keep your head underwater while I count to a million."

"Do you even know _how_ to count to a million?"

"As a matter of fact, I do." Peter glared at him."I could count to three million if I wanted-"

They both lurched to a stop, barely managing to avoid crushing the naiad standing in front of them.

"Yes?" Edmund asked warily.

"I bear a message from your sisters." She replied in a voice not very different from the sound of the wind whistling through the treetops.

"Is anything wrong? Are they safe?" Peter demanded.

"They are. But a dozen horsemen attacked the dwarfs' village. A third of it has been burned to the ground, and they've taken the princess."

"What do they want with Serena?" Edmund asked. "They just took her? Didn't they say anything? Where'd they take her?"

"I am just a messenger. I don't know." The naiad said, sounding annoyed.

"We're going to Kalingora." Peter grunted.

"This was all your idea! You and Perinore's stupid idea, didn't I say that you were wrong?"

"Don't you start lecturing me, now." Peter said warningly.

"Do you think they're all sitting around a table having a tea party with Serena right now? This was so stupid, I said not to send her along, but you just wouldn't listen. I don't even know what you plan to do next, Kalingora's at least two days away, they've probably done-done something to her by now, and it's all because of you, and your stupid, stupid plan."

Peter reached towards him and gave Edmund's shoulder a hard shake. "We're going to Kalingora. Calm down a little and we might even be able to think up something."

He turned around and began issuing orders. It was normally something Edmund did, but Edmund couldn't have told a child where his nose was at the moment.

He had no idea who to blame, he couldn't even begin to imagine how he planned to save Serena.

"We're leaving within the hour." He interrupted Peter to say. "Whoever isn't outside the gates with everything ready by then spends a week in the stockyards."

The knights glared back at him mutinously. Didn't he know that it was humanly impossible to have everything packed and one's armor on in an hour's time? Edmund didn't care. He'd build another fifty stockyards if he had to.

* * *

Somebody roughly pulled her off the back of the horse by grabbing unto the back of her dress. Serena promptly collapsed into the ground, her legs too weak to hold her up. Her captors didn't care. Somebody seized the back of her dress once again and yanked her to her feet. She was shoved through a doorway and down a flight of stairs, where she was then steered into a dark space.

They threw her into the cell and a thick wood and iron door clanged shut in front of her.

Serena sat on the cold stone floor of her cell, her wrists still bound and a rag still tied around her mouth. All the blood that had pooled inside her head began to rush back to the rest of her body, making her feel lightheaded and dizzy.

There was no use wondering what her captors wanted out of her. They'd probably kill her. It seemed to be everybody's goal these days.

But they could have, many times, already. Why was she still alive right now?

Somebody was moving around outside her cell. Pacing, from the sound of it. Her heart sank. How could she possibly escape, even if she managed to get out of the cell, if there was a jailer walking around outside her door?

She dragged herself across the cell and sat with her head leaning against its distant wall. There was nothing for her to do but wait.

Serena hated waiting.

* * *

Time seemed to alternate between flying by quickly and inching along. Serena wasn't sure whether she'd been in the cell for a week or for half a day.

Probably the latter, she decided. So far nothing had happened since her capture. There was even still a gag around her mouth and ropes tied around her wrists.

She fell asleep with her head against the wall, with everything still hurting and absolutely no hope for her situation.

The door crashed open, waking her up. A large man hauled her up to her feet and began untying her wrists and the gag around her mouth. He was almost gentle about it, and it was the first considerate thing anyone had done for her as of yet.

"Nobody's going to hurt you if you just do what they say." He said.

Serena didn't reply. She wasn't about to trust him just because he'd untied her.

"If you don't they're going to knock you around a bit," He warned. "But somebody's going to come in later, and ask you questions. You'd best answer them."

She stayed silent.

"Most people in your place would be grateful." He said leaning towards her much too closely.

She glared back into his muddy brown eyes. She was the furthest thing from grateful.

"Say, you're a pretty girl." He observed, grabbing onto her left wrist with one hand and putting his other uncomfortably on her hip. "You don't belong in this cold, dark dungeon."

Serena averted her gaze as quickly as she could.

"Maybe if you were a little nicer to me I could have you moved upstairs. I might even get you something to warm you up a little." He looked her up and down hungrily.

He twisted her wrist behind her back so hard it hurt.

"Get your hands off of me, right now." She said forcefully, though tears of pain were popping into the corners of her eyes.

"Are you sure you'd want me to do that? I could help you."

Serena responded by grinding the heel of her shoe into his foot and kicking at him as hard as she could.

He yelped in pain before angrily pushing her away from him and into a wall.

"Looks like you're staying here." He said coldly, swinging the door shut behind him.

Serena sank onto the cold, damp floor of the cell with her face in her hands. She didn't know what was worse. The fact that she was locked up behind barred doors; or the fact that she didn't know what was going to happen to her next.

The cell was almost pitch black, and the temperature lay somewhere between a cold February morning and the inside of a glacier. The last time she'd been this alone was when she'd spent hours outside the castle gates waiting for Atari. And even then Edmund had showed up to provide some sort of company.

But Edmund was literally hundreds of miles away now. Serena angrily pulled the compass he'd given her from her pocket (somehow she hadn't lost it during her capture) and threw it at the ground. The only useful thing she could do with it at this point was to smash it to pieces for fun. It bounced maybe half an inch before rolling into the patch of light that shone through the small, barred window on the door.

She hurriedly snatched it back before she could stop herself. Even if it was useless, at least it was _something_.

She turned it over in her hands, trying to see if she'd done any damage to the compass despite the poor lighting in the cell. Her fingers felt out a small chip in its side, where the stone of the floor had won against lacquered rosewood. But other than that the compass didn't have a single scratch on it.

Serena almost smiled. Edmund _would_ give her a compass that had to be trampled by a herd of centaurs before it stopped determinedly pointing north.

She stashed the compass back into her pocket, pushing it in as far as she could. Serena wished she'd somehow get the chance to thank him for it.

She tilted her head too look at the cell's low ceiling, groaning aloud softly. If thanking Edmund for auseless compass was the most important thing on her mind at the moment, then the only think that had escaped the cell so far was her sanity.

* * *

**Notice how I don't go into _how_ Peter kills a two-ton boar with nothing but a spearhead? It's because I have no idea how he would. But I'm sure he'd manage to, somehow.**

**I'm super excited to tell all of you that Vesi, one of my Italian readers, is translating this story into Italian and publishing it on the Italian version of this site! I'm completely flattered that she thinks this is good enough to expose Italian readers to, and she's most graciously offered to send me the translated reviews as well. I'm really looking forward to seeing what readers in Italy say. Once she manages to post the first chapter, I'll be sure to give everyone the link, and who knows? Maybe one of you will enjoy learning Italian that way. (I know I will!) So thank you, Vesi!**

**And of course I want to thank Off Dreaming and usually mostly innocent for their advice. They're both writers much more experienced and prolific than myself, and I'm so glad they took time out of their lives to give me some much needed help. Thank you!**


	20. Chapter 23

"It's her, see for yourself." A voice said, unlocking the door to Serena's cell.

Bright light flooded the dark room, nearly blinding Serena, who'd grown used to the pitch black of her prison.

A hooded figure and one of the horsemen that had captured her several days ago stepped in. The horseman hauled her to her feet.

"One of Chieftain Cynfor's aides let slip that she was at their camp. My men and I got to Kalingora and captured her for you, your Lordship."

The hooded figure gave a curt nod, though it continued to keep a safe distance from Serena. It made a small gesture with one gloved hand at Serena's captor.

"What's the name of the ship you were born on?" The horseman asked her, gripping onto her shoulder threateningly.

"The_ Celestina_." She rasped, her voice hoarse from disuse. There wasn't any point in lying, Serena knew. Asking her about the _Celestina_ was a simple precaution. One would have to be color-blind to fail to recognize her by her eyes.

The hooded figure nodded again, and withdrew a hand from its cloak to make a beckoning motion at Serena's captor. He eagerly let go of her to stand at its side.

There was a _clink_ as it passed a leather pouch to the horseman. Serena was all too familiar with the sound. The hooded figure was paying him for her capture.

The horseman gleefully tossed the pouch into the air once, caught it, and stowed it in his pocket. "Your Lordship is much too generous. You may take her tomorrow morning, once I've weighed the gold."

The hooded figure nodded once and retreated from the cell. The horseman grinned at Serena and said "Thank ye, Princess. My men and I will eat like kings tonight, because of you." before shutting the door to her cell once more.

* * *

Sitting on the floor of her cell, Serena fumed. The hooded figure had just paid a band of raiders in gold for her, and he'd be taking her away tomorrow. Who knows where he'd take her?

She realized, with a hopeless feeling, that this was her last chance to escape.

But there would be no escape. Her cell was underground and locked. There were no windows, and a jailer sat outside her door at all times.

She sighed. Upstairs she could hear men laughing and joking, clearly enjoying their long awaited payment. It was rough, boisterous laughter, the kind brought about by too much beer. She sniffed disdainfully. They would probably all be passed out drunk within the next hour or two.

It would be an almost perfect time for her to dash into the forest, if only she could escape the confines of her cell. It would be completely impossible, though, Serena reminded herself, biting down hard on her lip.

She leaned backwards into the pile of straw that she'd been forced to sleep on for the past few days, her fingers brushing against the steel slab that had served as a tray for the little food they gave her twice a day. Serena picked it up thoughtfully, trying to get a real sense of its actual heft and weight.

A plan began to take shape in her mind, and the more she thought about it, the less far-fetched it sounded. There was almost a chance that it would work. Of course there were a myriad of ways it could go wrong, all of which a voice-Edmund's to be precise-patiently pointed out to her. Serena disregarded them. Her situation couldn't get any worse now, could it?

_You can try, and have a chance, or not try and have no chance._ She reminded herself. A ninety percent chance of failure was still better than a one hundred percent guarantee, and her chances of being rescued were growing slimmer by the minute.

With her resolve strengthened, Serena stood up and leaned the steel slab against the wall, making sure to stand in front of it. She ran her fingers through her hair, wincing as they tugged out some of the tangles. She even tore a stitch or two from her blouse, and tugged it as far down as she could. It was amazing what a dimwitted girl with a low neckline could accomplish, and Serena knew she was at least _mildly attractive_ enough to use the fact to her advantage.

"Excuse me," She said pointedly, an extra layer of sugar in her voice. "Could you please help me with something?"

Her jailer, the large man who had tried to get Serena into his bed a few days ago peered in through the bars of her cell.

"Whatchu want?" He asked suspiciously.

"I dropped an earring, and I can't find it in the dark. It's a little diamond stud, you know, and I've been searching for it all morning. Could you please just come in with a torch and help me look for it?"

He mumbled something as he fumbled for the keys and unlocked the door.

"Where do you think you dropped it?"

"Oh, somewhere here," Serena gestured in the general area in front of her feet. "I'd really appreciate if you could find it and give it back to me."

The jailer stuck his torch into an empty sconce in the wall, and immediately dropped to his hands and knees to search for the non-existent earring.

"I'm so sorry to bother you; I know how busy you are at your job." She said, cautiously reaching behind her.

"It's not too much trouble." He said gruffly.

"No, no, if I weren't so silly…"

"That's alright." He crawled along, as if looking for the earring, though Serena could tell he was just getting closer and closer to her.

She smiled for the first time in days before bringing the steel slab crashing down on the man's head with all her strength.

He was pitched forward, and his nose hit the ground with a dull thud. Unfortunately, the blow didn't knock him out, but Serena was quick to dish out another one to the left temple that did.

She surreptitiously stepped over his prone form and out of the cell, tiptoeing her way up the steps to the main floor.

Her head bumped against the trapdoor, and Serena almost swore aloud. The gash running along her hairline that she'd received during her capture began bleeding again, but Serena impatiently brushed away the blood with the back of her hand and focused on listening to what was happening above her.

Silence. Everybody was either asleep or extremely drunk.

Marveling at her good luck, Serena carefully pushed the trapdoor open. She fought back a wave of disgust at the sight of several rough looking men passed out at the table in the center of the room.

She made her way to the front door, carefully inspected the area surrounding the building she'd been held in before taking off at a run and melting into the forest.

Serena ran, too exhilarated by her freedom to feel tired or be scared by the thick woods around her. A small mountain stream loomed into view before her, and she was quick to wade into it. The water would wash away much of her scent and make her harder to track.

Her euphoria was quickly cut off by the numbing cold of the water and the fact that she'd underestimated the depth of the stream. Water lapped at her neck, and the stream's flow made it hard for her stand properly in the river's silty bottom.

She plowed on, ignoring her fear that the river would grow deeper, though that was exactly what happened. The water was now over her mouth and making its way into her nose. She slipped on the slippery stones at the bottom of the river, and her entire body was plunged into the icy stream.

If she'd escaped only to drown, Serena thought furiously, she'd kill herself for it.

Kicking her way to the surface, she managed to make it to the grassy banks of the other side of the river. Serena leaned heavily on a nearby tree, struggling to calm her rapidly beating heart.

She stuck a hand into her pocket and pulled out Edmund's compass.

_Go south_, he'd said. _I don't care who you have to leave behind, just head south._

And so Serena went south.

* * *

**Well, as of right now, Vesi has published two chapters of Italian Pourquoi Moi. I'm happy to report that so far, the reviews have been positive. I find it really interesting how Italian readers review things differently-for example, most of my reviewers focus more on the characterization and plot in general, while they touch on more detailed aspects. Anyway, I'm learning some Italian now, from reading the reviews on Google Translate and then in Italian. Google's translations are still a little awkward, so I still depend on Vesi to understand what the reviewer means. At least I don't have to do that for you guys! (Pssstt...this is me asking for a review)**

**Here's the link (ooooh I hope it works...I've separated it with spaces in hopes that it will, so you'll have to delete them before trying to get there) ht tp: /ww w. efpfa nfic. n et/ view story. php? sid= 566539**

**Right now I'm grappling with what direction the plot should go in, so I'm completely and totally discombobulated. I hope you'll forgive me if the story is going in strange directions.**


	21. Chapter 24

Serena had been born to be adored and pampered in a marble palace, not stumble through a thick forest all wet, tired and hungry.

She did her best to force that fact from her mind as she made her wandered helplessly through the woods, stopping now and then to consult Edmund's compass. The simple euphoria of having escaped from her prison was quickly being replaced by doubt. For just how long could she venture south before running into someone who could help her? What if she continued to stumble her way through the woods until she died of starvation or exhaustion?

_Who cares? Keep running._ She told herself.

The sun was beginning to dip lower and lower into the horizon. She had less than a few hours before the forest became too dark for her to journey any further.

Serena raised her head and tried to see with the setting sun in her eyes. What she saw was the most welcome sight she'd ever seen, and not just because she'd always loved the way his profile looked when it was silhouetted against the fading light.

"Ed!" She exclaimed, stumbling into his arms.

He whipped around, a look of utter surprise on his face. "Are you a dream, or a ghost?" He asked in a whisper, hugging her tightly despite the fact that she was dripping wet.

"Neither. Don't be _too_ disappointed."

He let go of her abruptly to look her up and down. "God, Serena, you look terrible." He said, hurrying to unfasten his cloak and wrap it around her. "Where have you been?"

"I don't know," She replied. "The cellar of some house in the woods, I think."

"What happened? We've been looking for you for _days._"

"I just got out now, all the guards were drunk, and I hit one of them-"

"You'll never cease to amaze me." He muttered as he inspected the pattern of bruises around her left wrist.

"What about you? Why are you here?" She asked.

"To rescue you, of course," He said, frowning slightly. "You seem fine without me, though. We've been scouring the area, trying to find you. "

"Are Susan and Lucy alright?"

"They're fine. Peter and the girls set up camp a mile or two back; I was just taking a few men to look around for any sign of you."

"I guess you can cut that short and go home now."

Edmund spared her a small smile. She could tell that there were about a thousand things he was deciding not to say or ask.

"Let's go, then." He said, letting her loop her arm around his.

"There you are, dearie." They both whirled around to find Serena's jailer with a bloodhound's leash in his hands. "Did you really think you were _that_ clever?" To Serena's satisfaction, his head was bandaged and his nose was still bloody.

She opened her mouth to answer, but Edmund managed to get his point across first.

There was a painful crunching noise as he gave the man a punch to the face that sent him staggering several feet backwards. It was rather impressive, considering how the man easily outweighed Edmund by at least a hundred pounds.

Edmund hauled the man to his feet by the front of his shirt and shoved him against a tree.

"You'd best start talking." He said, with the voice and expression he adopted when he wanted something done, no questions asked.

There were people who considered Peter to have the more intimidating presence, but those were people who'd never seen Edmund angry. And as far as Serena could tell, he was positively livid.

The man's Adam's apple bobbed perilously as he recognized who he was talking to. "I-I didn't do nothing, Y-Your Majesty."

Edmund gave him another generous shove into the tree.

"They-they asked if they could rent my house! That's all!" He began to babble nervously. "They asked me to rent them the house! And then they had me put a barred door into my cellar, and watch the door so that she didn't escape, I didn't know what they wanted or what they were doing!"

"And you didn't realize, at any point, that your _prisoner_ was the missing princess?"

"I-I didn't until I got a good look at her! They threatened to kill me if I told anyone." He said pleadingly.

"You should rot in a dungeon." Edmund said. "But I might just kill you first."

"L-look, I didn't kidnap her! They were the ones who brought her to the house, all tied up. I even untied her!" He looked at Serena for mercy.

She crossed her arms and looked away. There was little chance she'd amass even a shred of pity for him.

"Who's 'they'?" Edmund demanded.

"I-I don't know. A bunch of horsemen, foreign, from the way they talk. I didn't ask!"

"You didn't think to ask, even though you're the only human in this area for miles around?"

"I didn't know, I didn't know!"

"Where's the house?"

"North! Two miles from here, a little west of the Falls." He squealed.

Edmund was silent as he pondered it. "Give me your boot." He said, finally.

"Your Majesty?" The man gaped at him.

"Give me your stinking boot." He extended a hand impatiently.

The man bent over and cautiously handed his shoe to Edmund, who pulled out a knife and began disassembling the leather boot.

"Don't think you can lie and get us lost looking for the house." Edmund said, waving the knife threateningly in the man's face. "I know what's west of the Falls."

"My apologies. I'm sorry, I forgot, I never meant to mislead you, I forgot-"

"Save it." Edmund replied coldly. He walked over to a tall poplar and rapped on its trunk twice with his knuckles. He turned around briefly and gave the man a fearsome glare. "And don't even think about running."

He said a few, whispered words to the tree; and the poplar lowered one of its branches to shoulder height. Edmund handed the tree a square of leather from the man's boot, saying, "And tell Peter to bring two dozen men and a few bloodhounds with him."

The poplar raised its branches back up, and Serena could see bunches of leaves ushering the dirty brown square of leather towards Peter's camp.

"Let's go." Edmund roughly grabbed the man by the scruff of his neck and steered him down a dirt path running through the forest. "You're lucky I'm letting Peter decide what to do with you."

They were a strange looking group walking through the forest, with the man limping because he was missing a shoe and Serena leaving a trail of puddles wherever she went. They were also a silent one, save for the man's frightened whimpers. Edmund kept a white-knuckled grip on the man's shirt and wore an expression of pure murderous intent.

He shoved the man into the care of the nearest guard (a terrifying eight-foot tall minotaur) as soon as they reached camp, and dusted off his hands as if the man had been a particularly filthy animal.

"Lucy'll be happy to see you, I suspect." He said, leading Serena into the center of a ring of tents, where someone had a blazing fire going.

"Ed, you brought her back!" Lucy said joyously, springing up from her place in front of the fire to grab Serena's hand, just like he said she would.

"Of course I did." He said reassuringly. "I'm going to go find Peter; he's probably tracking the house with the dogs."

"That's the first time he's been in a good mood since he got here." Lucy told Serena as soon as Edmund left. "Peter's still hoarse from a shouting match they had this morning."

"Over what?"

"God knows. Anything under the sky you can argue about, probably." She shook her head in disgust. "I've got your clothes in my tent, do you want to change?"

"Wouldn't you?" Serena asked, wringing a steady stream of water from her skirt.

Lucy frowned, looking annoyingly like Edmund. "I wish Peter would let me go with him, I'd like to give those people who grabbed you a good punch or two too."

"You Pevensies can be extremely vengeful." Serena observed as she rifled through her trunk for something to wear.

"We're absolutely terrible." Lucy agreed cheerfully. "Why don't you just wear that? It's a little chilly for anything else." She pointed at the dress of evergreen-dyed wool Serena was holding up and considering.

"I'm not too fond of the color." She admitted. "But I suppose that's not very important."

"Don't be so picky, you'll look fine."

"I should return this to your brother." Serena said, emerging from behind the curtain she was changing behind with Edmund's cloak in her hands.

"You might as well keep it, and we can burn it in the fire later. I _hate_ that one." Lucy wrinkled her nose at the cloak Serena was folding into a neat rectangle.

"I don't think he'd like that. It's too wet to burn anyway."

"Oh, _fine._" She sniffed. "I'll just have to wait until Christmas to get him a nicer one."

Serena slipped out of Lucy's tent and found Edmund's. It seemed almost dilapidated in how somberly neat it looked.

She lifted the flap and stepped inside. Lighting a candle on the small table in the center of the space, she looked around the dimly lit tent. What she saw almost made her cry out in surprise.


	22. Chapter 25

The place was a shambles; the ground littered with various objects that looked as if they'd been purposely thrown against the floor. There were clothes haphazardly draped over the back of every chair. Serena lifted her hands from the table and saw various pieces of parchment scattered over its surface, each one of them with one or two crossed out sentence written on them.

She carefully stuck a quill back into its holder and screwed the ink bottle's cap back on as she turned her head to read some of the papers.

She recognized Edmund's spiky, cramped handwriting almost immediately; as well as several assurances that everything was being done to recover her from whoever kidnapped her. They all began with an unnecessarily long greeting and were written with long words that were took up too much space and said too little.

At least a dozen unfinished letters lay on the table and even more crumpled ones were scattered on the ground. Edmund, who could have told a courtier to go die in his sleep and still gotten grateful and sincere thanks, not being able to write more than a few feeble sentences? More than anything, it made her feel guilty.

Serena stacked the papers into a neat pile and twisted the sheaf of papers into a cylinder. She fed them into the candle's flame and watched them blacken and dissolve into ashes. The burning papers temporarily lit the tent more brightly than before, and she could see that the only thing inside the tent that was still in order was the cot pushed against the back wall of the marquee. It was slightly wrinkled, but otherwise unslept in.

She searched for another candle and lit it. Serena had never cleaned up her own messes before, much less someone else's, but she had a nagging suspicion that at least half of this mess was her fault.

By the time Edmund returned at nightfall, everything had been picked up from the ground and replaced in their original places. Most of the clothes strewn about the room were neatly repacked into their chests, and even his writing desk managed to look respectable.

If any of it confused him, he didn't show it.

"Bloody bunch of them disappeared into the woods when they heard us coming. Nobody's seen them since, even the trees." He fumed.

"Why don't you ever wear armor?" Serena asked, ignoring what he'd just said.

"Because," He answered, stripping a mail glove from his hand with his teeth. "It's heavy, it's hot, and it's stupid."

"I imagine nobody would want to ride into battle with you, if you always spoke like that." She said, shaking her head at the scowl on his face.

"Riding into battle is stupid too." He replied, pulling off his chain mail vest and throwing it into a corner dismissively. "Especially with me. God knows I'm clueless with a sword." He threw his blade into the corner along with the mail vest.

Serena rolled her eyes at the ceiling. Lucy had once told her that if you ever thought you were winning a swordfight with Edmund, it was because he was three paces away from backing you off the edge of a cliff.

"How did all twenty of the men just disappear?" She asked.

"I don't know _everything_." He said, sounding the way he did when the gnomes demanded to know why their turnips never grew big enough. He set a small leather wallet down on the table next to Serena. "One of them dropped this."

"That's it?"

"It's still filled with whatever amount of gold his share was." Edmund said, dumping its contents on the table. "All the ingots had been filed, though, so that they were blank, and we don't know where they came from."

"I remember their leader being paid a bag of gold this big." She mimed an area roughly the size of a dinner plate.

"The thing is," Edmund ignored her, lowering his voice. "They forgot to file this one." He furtively pulled a coin from his pocket and slipped it into Serena's hands.

She tilted the coin towards the light and saw, with a sinking feeling, a face that wasn't very different from her own. Her father's image winked back at her in the candlelight.

"It's Satarran." She said, turning it over and seeing Satarra's Great Seal; a figure of a fierce dragon with its tail curled protectively around King's Tower, which had been built by her ancestors and was still dutifully whitewashed the second week of every month.

"I didn't show Peter, or anybody else." He said, carefully watching her.

She ran her fingers along the rim of the coin as she searched for something to say. If Peter knew he would have demanded answers, answers that she didn't have. Edmund must've known it too, because he never lied to Peter unless he had a _very _good reason. "Thank you."

"But I have to give the wallet to Peter and let him try to get something out of it, even though we both know he'll unearth next to nothing." Said Edmund, frowning at the cut on her forehead.

"You might as well. Gold's just gold." Serena shrugged. She hadn't exactly been surprised by the idea of someone from Satarra wanting to kill her. After all, it'd happened before.

"What's strange is that most people just don't have that much gold." Edmund said, dabbing some evergreen liquid that stung and smelled like cold winter mornings on the gash on her forehead.

"What? Ow!" Her cut felt like it'd been set on fire and then flash frozen.

"Sorry." He replied quickly. "Gold gets stolen, especially when it's in coins. People who have that much, they buy land or something else that doesn't get lost easily. That much gold? I'd exchange it for a medium size manor in the country."

"I'm glad you think I'm worth a decent country home." She shot him an exasperated look.

"People just don't have that kind of liquidity lying around." He insisted. "Even our treasury has the coins smelted into bars too heavy for a single man to lift. I'm sure your father would have done the same."

"It doesn't matter, Ed. There's plenty of ways to get a bagful of gold."

"She's right." Peter said, pointing at Edmund as he strode into the tent. "I could walk around stealing a few coins here and a few coins there from people's pockets for a few weeks and come up with a princess's ransom."

"Why thank you for knocking, Peter. Of course you may come in." Edmund said irritably.

"It's not like you've ever got anything to hide, other than maybe my birthday present. By the way, it's coming up."

"What did you do with Alfric or Albert or whatever?" Edmund asked, referring to the man whose house they'd just raided.

"Locked him in his own dungeon." Peter shrugged.

"_Peter._" Serena said reproachfully.

"It's alright. I gave him the key. Imbedded in a block of plaster." He added under his breath to Edmund. "I'm sure he'll get out eventually."

"Did you give him anything to break the plaster with?"

"He's got his hands, doesn't he?" Peter asked. "And he's thick-skulled enough to use his forehead, now that you mention it."

"Good." Edmund said approvingly. "I was going to have him work a year or two in the salt mines, but your idea's not too bad either."

"Why thank you, brother. You actually agree with me for once."

"Did you say you wanted the wallet?" Serena asked, proffering the purse.

"I did. Cynfor says he'll be able to say what it if I let him have a look at it. He reckons it's gold with a copper center." Peter said, taking it and pocketing the wallet.

"They use that in Calormen." Edmund was quick to lie. "Maybe Rabadash was trying to buy Susan as a wife again."

"He could've paid us directly." Peter complained. "Then I just need to get rid of you, and there'll be no one to nag me day in and day out."

"And you'd be bankrupt within a month."

"I most certainly would not. I can manage the treasury without your inflation-just price hodge-podge."

"Alright, I'm leaving." Serena announced. She didn't fancy listening to Edmund and Peter arguing late into the night. "Maybe you two could actually get some sleep for once, too."

She could hear Edmund's indignant reply as she ducked out of the tent.

"Inflation is more than just hodge-podge. Don't you complain when you're paying six shillings for a single loaf of bread."

"Shut up, Ed." Peter sighed.

* * *

"There's really no need, if you just gave it to me I could deliver it to King Ban after stopping to visit the Tiscroc in Tashbaan. I could be in Mede by-"

"I told you already, I'll do it." Edmund insisted, leaning across his desk to argue with Sophos.

"But you're already very busy, I don't see how you should need to make an entire monthlong journey just to deliver your salutations and a summary of the Narnian economy." Sophos persisted, proving surprisingly more resilient than most of the ambassadors Edmund managed to intimidate into submission.

"I insist on presenting it to King Ban personally, Ambassador Sophos."

"Surely Narnia cannot spare you for an entire month." The Medean Ambassador coaxed. "And it's not the most scenic of trips."

"There's always been Peter to oversee the country." Edmund pointed out with measured patience.

"Yes, yes. Nothing against the High King, but you have always observed the harvests, I would think that-"

"I'll be leaving for Mede tomorrow morning, Sophos! I won't have Narnia and Meade speaking solely through ambassadors like yourself."

"But Your Majesty, it's simply not-"

"I'm going to Mede if it means I have to have you locked into your rooms and your guard arrested." Edmund interrupted him.

"I just think that-"

"I really don't care what you think, Sophos. Perhaps you should remind yourself of who you're speaking to. Don't try to change my mind again."

"Yes, sir." Sophos said. "Have a good trip, Your Majesty." He added, backing out of the room.

Edmund sat down and crossed his arms. He half-considered apologizing to the Ambassador before leaving for Mede, but no official in his right mind had ever argued with him before. For all Edmund knew, Sophos had deserved it.

"It looks like you won." Serena remarked, after stepping in through the door Sophos shakily held open for her.

"I hate diplomatic immunity." Edmund said, glaring at the closed door as if he could see Sophos through it. "Some people just need to be put in the stockades for a good month or two."

"It looked like he really just wanted to save you from a long trip."

"It _looked_ like. The last thing I want is for the Tisroc to get his hands on exactly how many foot soldiers we have and how much food we could supply if he ever went to war with us."

Serena sighed. "You need to trust people more, Ed. I thought you liked Sophos well enough."

"He could have been lying about enjoying Kafka."

"There really isn't much to see in Mede, it's mostly farmland." She said thoughtfully, not even attempting to convince him any further.

"Is that what you tell King Ban? 'There's not much in Narnia, just a few dancing trees. It shouldn't be_ too_ hard to invade.'"

She smiled amusedly as she watched the crashing waves below his window. The cold September mornings and hot afternoons meant that she was wearing a gown of finely woven satin. The deeply purple fabric made her odd-colored eyes even more apparent, and it was gathered and bunched exactly where it should. He mentally kicked himself for forgetting how beautiful she was. Serena would never believe that, of course. He always found it strange that Serena, of all people, was the least convinced of her looks. And she said _he_ didn't trust anyone.

"Of course. That's why I'm here, you know. Because after I've sold you sisters into slavery and sent Peter to his death by pushing him out of this very window, I plan to hold you captive and force you into telling me how to make the trees move so that I can use them to attack Tashbaan." She replied matter-of-factly.

"One day, when we take each other seriously, you'll have to remind me to arrest you." He said, standing slightly behind her as they watched the sunset.

"I'll leave a note on your desk."

"I'm leaving for Mede tomorrow morning, by the way."

"It's a lot further than Archenland." She said, though he could tell from the way she was speaking that she knew he knew. "It's not that far from Satarra's far west."

"Maybe you'd like come, and then we could stop and visit." Edmund suggested.

She shook her head. "I'm not exactly going to get a welcome carpet rolled out for me right now."

"Or you just don't want to leave Narnia. Or me." He said, reaching forwards from behind her to wrap his arms around her waist and rest his chin on her shoulder.

"Narcissism has killed _so_ many people. Please try not to be one of them." Came her taciturn reply.

"So you're not coming with me." He said, not feeling as dejected as he thought he would because she hadn't refuted his theory that she wanted to stay with him instead of returning to Satarra.

"No, I'm not." She agreed.

"It'll be a lonely month."

"It's really all your fault anyway. If you hadn't _insisted_…" She replied. Serena wasn't the sympathetic type.

"Sometimes I can't tell if you're my sanity, or lack of it."

She turned her head to look at him. He could see himself reflected in her eyes. It didn't really matter how he felt, he found that he always looked happy-almost dazedly so-in them.

"Wait until I get back before you put yourself in mortal danger, alright?" He inquired lightly, as if asking her whether she wanted more sugar in her tea.

"I'm not the one traveling thousands of miles-through a desert-alone, I might add." She reprimanded.

"I know. It'll be easier if I don't have to think about rescuing you, though."

"It's the Calormene Desert, Ed. Even camels collapse." She said, taking his hand and gripping it tightly.

"How much are you willing to speculate that I know a shortcut?"

"No, you don't."

"I feel so woefully underestimated."

"Say that when you come back alive," Serena said, turning around to face him and clamping her hands on both sides of his face. "You're a bloody idiot, Ed." She told him, though her eyes looked more worried than angry.

"I know." He answered, barely resisting the urge to kiss her. The door to the room was ajar, and anybody could step into his office and see.

"At least you do." She gave him a small smile and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him.

For a brief flash of a second, he let himself worry about her utter control over him, before he realized that there were more pressing issues at hand.

"About the whole holding me captive until I tell you how to make the trees dance thing," He said after finally extricating himself. "Just tell them 'paladin'."

Her smile faded, and there was a look of something he didn't recognize on her face. What was it? Regret? But the smile came back quickly. "You should go get ready, if you're leaving at dawn." She said. "Especially since there isn't a shortcut. None that you know of, anyways."

* * *

**Well. There's Chapter 25. Took me so long I decided to double it up with 26...**

**In other news, I really, really want to write a Bones fic from Zacky's perspective. I could go all out geek in it. Still, I think I better finish this one first...**

**Stupid procrastination!**


	23. Chapter 26

"Is that you, Edmund? I thought you'd forgotten about this old man." The abbot chuckled as he unlocked the monastery gate and led Edmund into the kitchen, where they sat down at a roughly hewn table by the fire.

"I would have visited earlier, but I had to get to Mede."

"That's the problem with this monastery," The old man griped. "Everyone comes for the Aldora's Pass, and not for tea."

"I'm sorry. I came through during Vespers, and I didn't want to interrupt you."

"It's fine." The abbot waved his hands dismissively. "I can't say I wasn't disappointed when you had a courier return my books and not do it yourself, though."

"We've all been busy." Edmund said, reaching across the table to pour the abbot a cup of tea.

"You young people, always having some sort of crisis." The abbot paused. "I seem to forget that I was young once, too."

"I'll try to stop in more often, but Peter can't do _all_ the work."

"He can certainly do more than you let him." The old man intoned. "But enough of work, did you enjoy Mede?"

"Not very much," Edmund began

"I was born in Mede, you know." The abbot added.

"…because the rain ruined its _beautiful_ countryside."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. Personally I've always found Mede a bit of a bore. All farmland, and nothing better to look at." The abbot said, taking a sip of tea. "If only you had time to see Satarra. It was her mountains that made me believe that all of this had to have been created by some great Master somewhere."

"Paradise. That's what the poets like to call it."

"Beautiful country. It's a pity things are such a mess. They haven't crowned a new King yet, you know, and Oberon died nearly a year ago."

"I didn't think the Brothers and you would sit around a fire and gossip between prayers."

The abbot looked slightly abashed, but smiled. "I was the Ambassador to Satarra when I was a much younger man. I happened to be in court during what must've been the strangest ten years in all Satarran history; and when those ridiculous stuffed doublets were in fashion, I must add." The abbot leaned forward and took on the sort of tone that implied he was telling a story.

Edmund poured him more tea, and he took a large gulp before he spoke again.

"Oberon had been married to his first queen for…I think it was twenty, thirty some years. He had three sons. The court was in hysterics, because courtiers kept turning up dead. One day the duke of this duchy couldn't be roused from his bed, the next the lord of some manor was found drowned in the moat." The abbot waved one hand around in the air as he spoke. "Of course the Captain of the Guard, was working feverishly to find the culprit, and his work led him back to none other than the queen herself.

"It turned out that she wasn't the heiress to the Lord of some far off northern province; Oberon had married a witch."

"I really hope you aren't trying to joke with me, Father." Edmund said, shifting in his seat. He wasn't very fond of witches.

"I assure you I am not, my dear boy. Assana, I think, was her name. She was the White Witch's sister. The prettier, less powerful one of the two, I believe."

Edmund felt what seemed like a boulder drop into his stomach. "The White Witch is Serena's aunt?"

"Of course not." The abbot chided him. "When did I say that? You wouldn't have assumed so if you hadn't interrupted me. Now listen.

"Oberon had the marriage annulled. It's usually such a scandal when the King ends a marriage, but we were all thinking that he'd have her executed, so everyone was quick to strip Assana of her title and send her away to exile in the Northern Highlands.

"The King left court for a few years after that. Left Satarra in the care of his Chancellor and commissioned a ship to take him and a few hundred others out to sea. He said he was taking a grand tour of Satarra's islands, and spent a _particularly_ long time on the Isle of Eight Immortals. Met and married his second wife there as well."

"Serena's mother." Edmund supplied, remembering that she'd once mentioned being born at sea.

"Beautiful woman. They said she was an angel, but that's just made-up riff-raff. It's more than likely she was the daughter of one of the Immortals; but yes. She is—was—Serena's mother."

"What happened to her?"

"Poison. I'm surprised anyone would ever wish her any harm, but she died when her daughter was a few years old. Oberon's been wearing nothing but black, only riding black horses and making daily trips to her grave ever since."

"How dedicated. It's there a point to this story? You're quite fond of the allegory."

"Of course there's a point." The abbot said, wagging a finger in Edmund's direction. He leaned forward eagerly. "If Oberon's first marriage is completely illegitimate, and he loved his second wife so much, then who do you suppose he would have wanted to have the crown? "

There was silence as Edmund thought it over.

"Serena, after all this time, is queen?" He finally asked in disbelief.

"Oh no, nobody knows for sure, Serena especially. Oberon never said who should succeed him, and telling the Princess that her father was married twice is completely forbidden."

"But in theory, she_ is_ the queen."

"Satarra has never let a woman rule. Serena's lucky they even bothered teaching her how to read."

"So she isn't queen?"

"She may or may not be. Oberon has always loved her more than the last spoonful of water on Earth. Perhaps it's because she's inheriting a kingdom nearly twice the size of Calormen."

"That's a terrible reason."

"Well, I'm sure _you_ could find other reasons, but the very chance that she could be Queen is good enough for most."

"What?" Edmund nearly dropped his cup of tea in surprise. "_I_ could find reasons?"

The old man's eyebrow arched upward quizzically."Surely you'd be enlightened enough to find them. There _are_ things worth more than mere kingdoms."

"Very few things." Edmund replied, sounding unintentionally surly.

"I see that you aren't." The abbot sighed. "One day you'll be lucky enough to meet a woman who makes you think so, I'm sure."

"What'll Serena do now, assuming she finds out that she's inheriting more than just her grandmother's jewelry?" He asked, changing the subject. Valuing someone—anyone –more than his kingdom was all good and sentimental, but Edmund thought it more stupid than romantic.

"I wouldn't know. She seems to have dropped right off the face of this earth, and King Oberon has only ever allowed a select few to see his daughter. Wherever she is, it's not at all likely anyone'll ever recognize her. I do hope Serena's alright." The abbot's brows furrowed as he spoke "She hasn't been seen in so long. Such a shame. Such a shame."

"Why is it a shame?" The abbot's story had been surprising, but it certainly wasn't depressing.

"Because—and this is assuming she's still alive somewhere—Princess Serena could be Queen of all Satarra, and queens are never happy." The old man sighed again, looking as if he personally knew of sad, lonely queens perched on uncomfortable thrones and surrounded by many people and not a single friend.

"I suppose you'll have to add her to your prayers, Father." Edmund reached for his cloak after considering the abbot's words for a long while. "Alongside your own health, of course."

The old man peered at him and smiled mischievously, looking like a child a tenth the abbot's age. "I can only pray for so many, dear boy. But I suppose there are people more important than yourself to pray for, now that you've mentioned it."

"You pray for me?" He asked, surprised. "What for?"

"For your family's safety, for peace in Narnia, and for you to remember to return my books when you borrow them. And not necessarily in that order."

"Thank you for the tea _and_ the prayers, then." Edmund said, standing and then helping the abbot up from his seat. "I should really go, Cair Paravel must be burning to the ground by now."

"Always the rush," The old man shook his head. "Perhaps one day you'll be old and useless like me, and then you can join the Friars for a life of quiet meditation."

"I'm sure you're far from useless, Father."

"Useless enough to appreciate a visit every once in a while." The abbot smiled, unlocking the gate to let Edmund and his horse out. "Give your brother and sisters my regards."

* * *

Edmund tried to let the idea that Serena stood to inherit the Satarran crown sink in as he made his way down the last stage of Aldora's (very narrow and winding) Pass. The Pass had been discovered a millennia ago, and yet very few people knew about it, mostly because the Friars took care to make it look like boulders had long blocked the mountain pass. Empires could be controlled through Aldora's Pass, which wound through the mountains that bordered Calormen, Mede and Satarra; and it was best to let the Friars guard it from misuse. Edmund had been lucky enough to stumble upon the monastery and a sympathetic abbot, who'd never denied him from using the Pass.

But the fact that something as remarkable as Aldora's Pass had remained undiscovered for centuries eluded Edmund. It hadn't ever before; he'd always left the monastery wondering over the sweat and blood the Friars had put in over the last millennia to ensure that the Pass remained hidden.

Just what was he going to do now? He could sit down, tell her the abbot's story, and hope that she'd believe that at least half a sentence of it. And then he could see her off when she left for the crown waiting for her in Satarra.

_Queens are never happy_, the abbot had said. Serena already chafed under the attention of the few people in court at Cair Paravel, she'd be positively suicidal as queen.

He decided to keep his mouth shut. After all, hadn't Serena's father completely forbidden anyone from ever telling her? He consoled himself by reminding himself that Serena wasn't meant to find out anyway.

"Let's go home." He said, patting his horse's neck and spurring the animal into a faster gallop.

Lucy was waiting for him on the front steps when he arrived. He swung himself off the horse, pausing briefly to observe that there was another one tied to the hitching post beside him. It was a purebred stallion, he noted, the kind that's value couldn't be covered by even a small castle. It also had an expensive saddle, with gold embedded in the leather.

"Oh good Ed, you're home," Lucy said, standing up to brush some of the dust off Edmund's cape. "A man just arrive a few moments ago, he demanded a private audience with Serena. He was in the most terrible hurry—"

"Well, did you let him have one?"

"Yes, he seemed like there was something he badly wanted with her."

"Is someone with her? Peter? Anne? Anyone?"

"No," said Lucy, looking confused. "I thought he just wanted to talk to her about something, that's all."

"That may not have been the best idea…"Edmund muttered as he pushed past Lucy and frantically ran up the stairs two steps at a time.

Hadn't she _promised_ to stay out of trouble until he got back?

* * *

Oh look. Another cliffhanger. Don't you just love me? I'm just horrible.

While I'm here...I've deleted chapter 5 (At least I'm pretty sure it's five). It really had nothing to add to to the plot whatsoever, so it's just going bye-bye. So's Ebbinghaus. Which I now find inconsistent, unneccesary, and totally overly histrionic.


	24. Chapter 27

"Wait, I'm almost done!" Serena called, slapping at the hand that was busily trying to pin a lavender ribbon to her dark curls.

"Shhh. Lady voices!" Mrs. Champlain scolded. "And don't even think that I'll be letting you run around the palace with your hair like village girl's. Just because your father says it's all right…"

"But Father's King." Serena reminded her governess.

"He's also not a woman, and he'd never notice those things. But just last week Duchess Crawford and her silly friends thought your red cloak over a blue dress was 'quaint'." She sniffed disapprovingly. "I'm sure Prince Helios can wait at least a minute."

"May I go now?" Serena asked, frowning at the large bow on the back of her head.

"Alright, scamper along." Mrs. Champlain said as Serena scooted out of her chair. "And don't let me hear that you and His Highness tried to climb on the roof again!"

Serena ran—slid—across the smooth marble surface of the hallway floor, neatly stopping short right before she collided with a marble bust of her late grandfather. She pushed open the gold-handled door of dark paneled wood. It swung open noiselessly.

"That took forever! Did Mrs. Champlain keep you to tell you to cross your legs at the ankle with right over left instead of left over right?" Helios asked, grabbing her by the arm and leading Serena outside into the palace courtyard.

"Something like that!" Serena replied. "Let's go, Mrs. Champlain's calling me in for teatime at three."

They ran across the courtyard, dodging men carrying assorted things across their backs, elegant ladies strolling daintily arm-in-arm, and busy officials rapidly delegating orders to their harried-looking assistants. Everyone paused to let the two children pass, and give them an endearing smile. It was good to see that at least two people in Satarra's royal palace were having fun.

Serena and Helios ran upstairs to a hidden alcove above the Queen's wing of the palace. Serena sat down on the window seat and stared intently at the wall tapestry of a Satarran Queen from at least three hundred years ago leading her ladies-in-waiting in a procession down High Street. Her heels banged against the side of her seat as she considered the Queen's face, as if she was trying to spot a resemblance.

Helios turned away from peering out the diamond-paned window.

"A messenger came from home yesterday." He said.

"What did he say?"

"My brother died. Something called New-moan-ya."

"That's just terrible." Serena replied, even though she'd never met the elder of the two Aurean princes. But since Helios was the only friend she had who wasn't a decade older than she was, she thought that it was the right thing to say.

"Never liked him anyway." Helios said dismissively. "He was always reminding me that he was older than me by thirteen years."

"Oh."

"But now they want me home so that they can train me to be king."

"You're leaving?" Serena asked.

"I have to." He said, dourly kicking at the side of the window seat.

"You're—what's it called?—heir apparent now?"

"Heir presumptive." Helios corrected. "But they call it 'Crown Prince' in Aura. I'm Crown Prince now. I don't want to go back."

"Your father has a 'gourgeous' palace," she offered. "Mrs. Champlain told me."

"But I don't want to go home." He replied. "I like it better here, with you."

"I think you'd be good at being King."

"Well I don't want to be."

"There's a lot you can do when you're king. You get to say no to going to bed early and no to being polite to nasty people. Daddy said so."

"There _is_ a lot you get to do." He admitted. "Like choose who I get to marry."

"What?" Even for Helios, it was a bizarre outburst.

"I'm going to ask you to marry me." He said solemnly. "You can be my queen."

"You can't do that! You have to ask Daddy, and Archbishop Beckett, and your own Daddy first!" She said, scandalized.

"Not now!" He said, shaking his head. "When I'm King, I'll come back to Satarra and come find you. _And then_ you can be my queen."

"But you're nine years old! You're not even _half_ as old as Allister, and Allister says he's not going to be old enough to marry until he's sixty." Privately, Serena was quite sure that Allister, her favorite brother, wasn't _ever_ getting married.

"Well, I'm nine_ and a half _now, and you're eight. And in ten years you'll be eighteen, and then I can ask you to marry me, for real."

"Ten years is a _really_ long time." Serena said. "You'll forget, or change your mind. Men always change their minds." She said wisely.

"I won't." Helios shrugged. "And I'll remember to remind myself every night before I go to sleep to come to Satarra once I'm king and ask you to marry me."

"What if I say no?"

"But you wouldn't." He assured her. He paused briefly."I have to leave tomorrow, before the sun comes up."

"_Tomorrow?_ That's so soon!" She said, both sad and outraged. With her brothers all at least twice her age, and all the other children in the palace afraid to play with her, Serena would be lonelier than ever without Helios.

"I don't want to go, either. I like Satarra." Helios' lips formed a childish pout. The sun shone across his face and made his blonde hair look as if it were made of spun gold. Mrs. Champlain liked to say that Prince Helios was the closest thing there was to a real angel, but only when he was fast asleep.

"I'll miss you."

"I know. Just wait, I'll come back for you." He grabbed her by the shoulders. "I promise that I'll come back to marry you."

Serena forgot the next day.

* * *

"I don't see why Lucy and I can't ride down to the village without a guard, but Edmund's allowed to travel all the way to Mede alone." Serena said, frowning.

"He's not alone," said Peter. "He's got his two horses, plenty of good sense, and Susan let him borrow her horn in case he needs help."

"What if he loses it?"

"Ed doesn't lose things." Lucy chuckled. "Not even a quill pen."

"He'll be fine, Serena." Susan placated her. "We sent him to visit the Nemean centaurs all on his own once, and that was seven years ago."

"Came back without a scratch." Peter said. "Said he hated the food, though."

He, Lucy and Susan snorted simultaneously into their soup bowls. The head cook had been feeding him leftovers whenever he asked her to knock something up for him because he missed a meal for years, and Edmund had never noticed.

The lunch table relapsed into a polite silence. Life was so boring without Edmund.

A guardsmen ran into the room and gave Peter a hurried salute before saying, "Some man's showed up at the gates, demands to see the Princess." He panted.

"Me?" Asked Serena.

"Yes, Your Highness. He says urgent—life and death urgent."

"Should-should I go see him? What is it?" She looked across the table to Peter, who looked just as puzzled as she was.

"He didn't say, but he said he had something important to discuss with you."

"Are you done eating Serena?" Peter asked, looking at her plate. "Yes, you are. Good. Tell him she'll see him in the throne room, Alan."

Serena stood and followed Alan out of the dining room. _"I don't know."_ She mouthed at the quizzical look Lucy gave her.

She stepped inside the throne room, wondering who could possibly need to see her so badly. Maybe it was Ed's idea of a joke.

Serena saw who it was, and stopped short. "Your Majesty." She gasped, barely registering the man standing before her.

"Please, Serena. It's Helios. It'll always be Helios between us." He held his hands out and smiled. Helios looked flushed and breathless, out of both excitement and what must've been riding at breakneck pace to Cair Paravel.

"You found me. Here."

"Yes, I did. I was in Satarra, searching for you, but your brother told me you were here."

"But you live thousands of miles away. You came all this way to find me? Is something wrong?"

"I almost forgot my promise, Serena."

"What promise are you—oh." She suddenly remembered. An icy cold weight dropped into her stomach.

"But I'm here now, here to keep the promise I made you."

"That was ten, eleven years ago, we were just children. You can't possibly—"

"I promised I would, Serena. I keep my promises."

"You have, you've already come all this way to find me." Serena said desperately.

"I want you to marry me." He said, his words coming out in a rush.

"Helios, you—"

"Will you? Marry me?" He asked, taking her hands and kneeling before her.

"Helios, I can't. I didn't even think you were serious eleven years ago, it wouldn't be right."

"Marry me, Serena. I don't care if it's right or not, I've loved you for-for longer than I can remember, and you'd be more than just my queen." He said, an earnest look in his green eyes.

"When I say I can't," Serena said gently, "It means that I won't."

"Serena." He said her name pleadingly. The sound of it almost made her flinch.

"I'm turning you down, Helios."

"What do I need to make you marry me? There's almost nothing I wouldn't do."

"There's really nothing, I won't marry you." She said as kindly as possible but still taking care to sound resolute.

"You won't change your mind?"

"No." Serena gave him a small smile. "But men do. They always change their minds."

Helios chuckled, but it was the sad kind of chuckle. "I know, you've told me." He stood up, paused for a second and tried his best to piece together the situation. "You're sure, then?"

"Absolutely."

"I suppose I can't force you to marry me, unless I invade Satarra and enslave your people."

"Please don't." She said, and they both laughed.

His face grew serious. "You're not marrying me because—"

"Yes." She cut him off. Serena could tell, from the look on his face that he knew.

"You won't be able to if you're married…still, Serena. I'd like to think that marrying me is the better option."

"There was never an option."

"If that's your final answer, Serena… I should go—I don't know how long the Lords can go unsupervised without fighting." Helios turned around to leave, with as much panache as he could manage. "Good luck, Serena."

"Thank you." She said, just loudly enough for him to hear her over the quiet whoosh of the closing door.

Helios' footsteps had hardly faded before Edmund emerged from behind the curtain draped decoratively behind the four thrones at the front of the room.

"You turned him down." He said quietly.

"I did." Serena replied, unfazed by his sudden appearance seemingly from nowhere.

"You could have married him, you know." Edmund fingered a gold tassel hanging from cord tying the curtains together. "Married King Helios and had the largest palace on this side of the world—you would have loved Aura."

"I wouldn't. The weather's just _so_ sunny and _so_ boring." She said emphatically, as if the very thought of sunshine made her sick.

"He was prepared to do anything for you, he said so himself." He continued, ignoring her.

"But there isn't anything I need or even want him to do for me, so that wouldn't have been at all useful."

"He was in love with you; you've known each other for the greater side of forever." His fingers shredded the tassel's strings into a fine floss.

"That doesn't mean I'd marry him. Mrs. Champlain treated me like a daughter, and she's taken care of me since I was born. Do you see me marrying her?"

"That's different." Edmund insisted.

"I'm not marrying Helios. Not today, and not tomorrow." She said, her voice high and tense.

"I wouldn't have blamed you for anything." He said, his calm a striking contrast to the anger he could see that she was trying to withhold.

"Neither would I." She said vindictively. "But look what you're doing now. Blaming me for saying no to a wedding you'd rather break a leg than attend."

"It would've been for the best."

"Oh, and let me guess, all you want for me is the best." She glared at him. "Just how clueless are you, really? There must be some number large enough to quantify it."

"Your father made it perfectly clear—"

"My father's dead." She replied sharply.

"He knew what he was doing, what he wanted for you."

"_You _don't know what you're doing." She fired back. Her one motive, it seemed, was to make him feel as horrible about himself as she could. And she was astonishingly effective at it.

"Even considering that maybe I don't, you overestimate me. It would've been better if you married Helios." He said, more evenly and more plaintively than she thought was possible.

She gave him an exasperated look of utter impatience.

"You made a mistake, Serena. You and Helios could've—"

Serena huffed, and crossed the room in a few brisk steps.

"Ed, don't say anything," She ordered, then reconsidered her words. "No, shut up. Shut up until you've got something other than your stupid, noble nonsense." She hammered out the words "stupid" and "noble" forcefully, as if words alone could crack windows and fell mountains. She stopped and paused for a long while at the look he gave her.

"Please stop talking." Serena said lifelessly, suddenly close to tears. She wound an arm around his neck, and used her hand to push his forehead down to her own. Serena hadn't meant to argue with Edmund, or for it to turn into a one-sided verbal lashing. And she hated how he was right.

He wasn't nearly as obstinate as she was. After a month away, Edmund was about as malleable as a sheet of pure gold.

"Serena." He managed, in a pained, whispery breath. She hadn't won this argument, but he certainly felt worse. He slipped his arms around her waist, because God knows that was all his useless self could do. He obligingly didn't say a word.

He raised his head and looked at her, his lips tightly knit into a straight line. Serena could've never thought of anything to compare the blue of his eyes to—Lucy's came close, but they were blue like flowers. Edmund's was the sort of blue that could never be picked and arranged in a vase.

Regardless of his demeanor, his eyes were never a _calm_ blue. No tranquil shade of blue could ever come close to saying what his did.

The whole room felt tense, like the sky did between a flash of lightning and the violent rumble of thunder during a storm. The tension didn't ease, even as he kissed her. It never did, Serena realized. The steady march of things and people that wouldn't ever let her have what she wanted.

"I would have gone upstairs and smashed something if you'd said 'yes' to Helios, you know." He said, as he used a hand on the side of her face to keep her from looking away from him by turning sideways or down. "I love you more than life and whatever comes after it combined."

"Hell could come after it. Don't say you love me more than Hell." She replied, sounding more unfazed than she really was.

"I'm an absolute poet, aren't I?"

She found herself wishing they could last forever.

* * *

**And by that, I of course imply that they DON'T last forever…or do they? **

**Well Pourquoi Moi's almost done. It's got a few more chapters to go, tops. Thanks to all of you who've been with this story for all this time. **

**As for what comes after Pourquoi Moi, well, I don't know. On one hand I want to give it a more defined ending, but on the other maybe I could go out on a limb and let you readers imagine how it ends. I don't know yet. **

**I DO know that I'm planning a Bones story after this is done. Hodgins and Angela are married and having a baby, but poor Zacky's still in the loony bin. He needs to get out, break up with Naomi from Paleontology, and go back to being the Jeffersonian's coolest intern; (though he's technically not an intern anymore…in that case Mr. Nigel-Murray is the coolest) even if it's only in my imagination.**


	25. Chapter 28

"…And then Peter just _looked_ at me, I don't think he believed it, but he let me go anyway." Serena said, laughing.

"I'm surprised he believed a word of that, a blizzard in June is likelier." Edmund replied as they made their way up the spiral staircase leading to the top floor of the tower. It had been a cold day to take a walk along the beach, and they were both soaked with the spray of saltwater. Serena had lost her scarf to the wind; their shoes were caked in sand.

Edmund was quite sure it was the best Sunday afternoon he'd had in a long time.

As he stepped onto the landing, Edmund sense that something was dreadfully wrong. Serena's door was ajar—in fact it looked to have been roughly kicked open. And the landing's one window was opened as well. A cursory glance outside revealed that the roof tiles of the building below were cracked, as if someone had recently clambered onto the roof.

"Serena, go to my room. Lock the door between the bedroom and my study. There's a dagger beneath the pillow if you need it—"

"Bloody hell, Ed. Why do you sleep with a knife under your pillow?" She asked, ignoring his severe tone.

"Lock the door, and don't let anyone in." He replied tersely, taking a decorative but still potentially lethal sword from its place hanging on the wall and drawing it.

"This really isn't necessary. Have the guardsmen come up, if you really need it, but for Aslan's sake—"

"I swear, I'll run you through with this wall ornament if you don't get moving."

"I love you, too." She said, her eyes at the ceiling as she headed into his rooms, more to humor him than because she thought she needed to.

Edmund cautiously stepped into Serena's rooms. The sitting room had been ransacked; books torn from their shelves, pieces of furniture were overturned, and her desk seemed to have been hacked to pieces. He made his way into the bedroom, which was even worse off than the room before it. The bed hangings were draped on the ground and not "hangings" in any sense; the mattress had been slashed open. Jewelry spilled out of the boxes that lay smashed on the floor. Someone was looking for something, and it was worth even more than the small mine's worth of diamonds on Serena's floor.

Both rooms were deserted. Edmund breathed a sigh of relief, and hurried to find Serena. She would have a fit over the state of her curtains, but it was better than whatever disaster they'd just averted.

He ran into his study. "It's alright, Serena, it's just f—" He stopped short at the half dozen spears pointed at his throat.

"Put the sword down." One of the men growled.

Edmund gulped, but his grip on the sword's handle remained steady. "Nice weather outside, isn't it?" He said pleasantly.

* * *

There was a tense silence in the room. The sword was still held tightly in Edmund's hand, and six spear points were still trained at his neck.

He could hear Serena talking.

Keep talking, Serena, he thought desperately. At least, then he knew she was still alive. He strained to hear what she was saying. All he could distinguish was her sharp, rapid-fire speech, and at most a word or two. The rest came as a muffled murmur.

Her voice changed. It became louder, more high pitched. If she was arguing with someone, then the situation could get much worse, much more quickly.

It was the riskiest, most dangerous decision he had ever made, and Edmund did it in less than a split second. He let his knees buckle beneath him and ducked below the spear. He sent one man sprawling with a well aimed kick, and slashed wilding at the rest of them with his sword. He really didn't care if he killed them or gave them a few bruises and cuts. He just needed to save Serena.

As soon as the last man was out cold or pretending to be in order to avoid being cut to ribbons by a decorative longsword, Edmund locked the study doors and stuffed the key into his pocket. He threw open the door to his bedroom,

"Serena!"

He froze.

"I'd put the sword down, if I were you." A man said silkily, holding a knife of sharpened steel to Serena's neck and grasping her as if she was a human shield.

"Leave him out of this! Ed, get out." She ordered, as she struggled against her captor.

"No, don't go anywhere." The man said. "Or something happens to her pretty little neck."

"Don't listen to him! Ed, just leave, leave it, I'll be fine."

Edmund's feet remained firmly rooted in their places. "Let her go." He demanded.

"Maybe if you put the sword down, and—"

"No! You! Leave him out of this; he doesn't know a thing about it. Get out, Ed!" Serena told him, seemingly disregarding the dagger at her throat.

"Who are you?" Edmund asked instead, the tip of his blade still pointed at the man.

Serena answered for him. "I'd like you to meet my brother, Albion." She said bitterly, fighting against the grip he had on her wrists.

Edmund felt his heart drop into his stomach. The abbot's story rapidly replayed itself in his head. He knew what Albion wanted with Serena.

"She doesn't know a thing, either, there's no point. Let her go." He said, lowering his sword.

Albion's eyes flashed dangerously. He was a handsome man, dressed completely in a suit of black. Edmund was glad to see that Serena looked nothing like her brother. "Doesn't know a thing about what, exactly?"

"Ed, you don't know what you're saying." Serena said. "Don't say anything else, Ed, get out."

"I know about your mother!" Edmund said loudly, ignoring Serena.

She groaned. "Ed, shut up!"

"Yes, my mother." Albion murmured, ignoring Serena as well. "What about her?"

"She was a w—"

"ED!" Serena practically screamed. "Stop! Don't say another thing, you really don't even understand half of it!"The exertion from raising her voice combined with Albion's tightening grip caused the dagger to bite into her skin, and a thin rivulet of blood ran from the cut.

The scarlet caused Edmund to stop immediately. He didn't want anything to do with Satarra, he just wanted to keep Serena safe.

"Let him leave, Albion. We can talk, try to—"

"Put the sword down." Albion repeated, cutting Serena off. He had a sly, foxlike look on his face the Edmund didn't like. "Oh, don't think I have qualms against killing my sister. I never liked her anyway." He reassured Edmund.

"Get out, Ed! Turn around, the door's right behind you. Leave him out of this Albion!" She said, looking to Edmund imploringly.

Albion let the blade of the dagger sink a fraction of an inch deeper into Serena's throat, watching Edmund's reaction.

"You win," He said after a moment's deliberation, throwing the sword to the opposite side of the room. "Now let her go."

"Certainly." Albion said smoothly, shoving Serena away from him and to the ground. He strode purposefully over to Edmund, reaching inside his pocket for something.

Before he could react, Albion was holding a wet rag to his face. Whatever it had been soaked in made his eyes and nose burn, and when he was forced to breathe in, it burned his windpipe too. He could feel the noxious gas rising into his nose settling in his lungs. The room went hazy, and its colors began to bleed together, like a watercolor painting that had been rained on.

"No!" He heard Serena cry out from somewhere far away. "No! You said you wouldn't!"

And then the room was dark.

* * *

**Oh no. What **_**is**_** going on?**

**Well ha-ha-ha, I have the next two chapters already written, so expect an update soon. I just had to break it off here, it was the perfect place to start laying on the suspense.**

**And don't complain about cliff-hangers, people. I've been murdering my eyes reading through all 97 chapters of Off Dreaming's "The Reign of Kellyn Wood", and she and Drew STILL haven't gotten together. THIS NEEDS TO HAPPEN SOON, OFF DREAMING. EVERY CHAPTER YOU TEASE US BY MAKING IT SEEM LIKE IT'S HAPPENING IN THE NEXT CHAPTER, BUT IT DOESN'T. JUST WHHAAATT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, HUH?**


	26. Chapter 29

Edmund came around slowly. At first all he could see were blurs in the distance, and then the room gradually came into focus. He was tied to a chair, he realized, with his arms pined behind its back. It wasn't even one of the comfortable chairs in his room, which irritated him. This one was the plain, austere one that he mostly piled books on.

Nobody noticed that he was awake.

"You killed him, didn't you?" Serena asked Albion, her arms crossed in front of her body defiantly. "You put the poison in father's food—mercury distillate, three drops a day over several months."

"Our old man of a father never had a clue." Albion sneered. "Yes, I killed him."

"And that wasn't enough," She pressed on. "You had to kill him slowly. He was already dying when I left."

"My patience was well rewarded. Nobody ever thought to even suspect I knew a thing."

"Nobody but me," Serena said quietly. "You've made poison your trademark, Albion."

"How clever of you," He replied coldly. "Please, what gave it away?"

"You know I never trusted you—nobody else would have thought that you killed her. What was it, nightshade or arsenic?"

"Who?"

"My mother." Serena responded, in a way that made Edmund believe that she'd known for years and never told anyone.

"Your mother was nothing but a common whore, lucky enough to catch a king's eye!" He snarled, his anger crazed and livid.

"So this is what it was," She said. "Killing people for a silly personal vendetta. It's for your witch of a mother. Because she was dying in the Northern mountains while Father brought home a new Queen."

"It's no silly vendetta if enough people die for it." Albion said. "I was the only one, the only one. No one else gave half care for Mother after she was banished. Not Damian, not Allister. I was the only one who loved her enough to destroy my father and stepmother for her."

"And now you're here for me." Serena supplied calmly. "I suppose it's harder to slip poison into my cup when I'm thousands of miles away." Her eyes narrowed. "Not that you haven't tried."

"Tried what? Do elaborate." He inquired, though Edmund was sure he knew the answer anyway.

"The Deradorian Fever. Peter pointed it out to me, really. And it's not hard to suspect the only person who hadn't been on the guest list, especially if he gave me a drink and no names. You sent him, didn't you?"

"Clever." He said. "I suppose you've occupied all your intelligence, all these years putting that together."

"Gracious as always—Ed!" She turned and spotted him watching. Serena immediately scrambled over and knelt by his side.

"Ed, oh, Ed, I'm so sorry." She said, reaching over to brush his hair out of his eyes. "Are you alright?"

"As long as you are." He assured her.

Serena worked at the thick rope tying him to the chair, but it was a hopeless mess of knots.

"Let him go," She demanded, glaring at Albion. "He's got nothing to do with any of this."

"No." He smiled. "King Edmund can stay."

"Let him _leave_, Albion. Please."

"No. Maybe if I've both your lives in my hands you'll behave." He said greasily.

Serena sat back. "You don't need me to behave to kill me." She said, turning to look at him slowly.

"Of course not." Albion responded, hauling Serena to her feet by the folds of her dress and back to the center of the room. "We both know why I'm really here. Where is it?"

"Where's what?" Serena asked impatiently.

"You know what I'm looking for! Now where is it?"

"No, I do not! What could you possibly want from me, I see that you've already broken into my rooms for it!"

"It wasn't there!" Albion shouted, his fists clenched. "The entire country is at a standstill without it, nothing can be done!"

"Because I don't have it!" Serena shot back. "Why would I have it?"

"Where is it, you infuriating brat?"

"I don't have it!" She insisted.

"If you don't have it, where else could it be? Every inch of the palace has been combed clean, Satarra has been searching for months!"

"There are plenty of hidden rooms and passages. Check there! I don't have it!"

"Of course you do, you conniving little—"

"What is 'it', and why is it so important?" Edmund asked loudly.

They both turned to look at him.

"Satarra's Great Seal." Albion said.

"Forged for the first King of Satarra by the Fire Dwarves, deep inside Mount Tamalpais." Serena added.

"Without it Satarra cannot crown a new King. We have gone without one for nearly a year."

"It belongs to whoever is meant to take the throne, our father would have entrusted it to Damian."

"But Damian doesn't have it! Whom else could it have taken it? Of course you." Albion pointed at Serena accusingly. "You. You would take it, you spoiled brat, and hope to come home to Satarra and be queen. You would! Father gave you everything, why not the throne, you must've thought."

"I did not!"

"Of course you did!"

"No, I don't have the seal! I haven't even _seen_ it."

Albion's fists were clenched tightly at his side, his face white with fury. "Lies!" He screamed, incensed by Serena's insistences. "But I can make you tell the truth." He said craftily, looking towards the corner that Edmund's chair was in.

"No! Albion, I don't have it, there isn't any use threatening anyone." Serena tried to placate him, but her voice shook dangerously.

He stood behind Edmund's , and took a bottle out of his coat. "Do you know what this is?"

"No." She responded tightly.

"If you must know, I used powdered nightshade to kill your mother." Albion said. "You're right. Tricky flower to find…but it's an elegant little killer. You remember how she died. In mortal agony. Begging to be finished. It kills quickly, but not quickly enough. You're right, you know. Poison _is_ my specialty."

"What exactly do you—" Edmund opened his mouth to protest, but Albion swiftly clamped a hand down across his mouth to stop him from talking.

"Stop. There's no point, I don't—" Serena tried to say, looking fearful and worried.

"You know, I don't think he'll scream as much. At least not towards the end." Albion slowly began unscrewing the cap with his free hand. "I'm not bluffing. I've already killed _one_ King."

"Albion, you really won't get anything out of this. Please put the bottle away, I can help you, just leave Ed alone."

"Give. Me. The. Seal."

"I don't have it!" She insisted again.

"That's it! And you continue to lie!" Albion growled. He pinched Edmund's nose to make him open his mouth to breathe, and began to tip the contents of the bottle into it.

"Alright, I have it! I'll give it to you." Serena said, darting forward and attempting to knock the bottle out of Albion's hands.

He made the tipping motion again, and she was forced to back away with her hands raised. "Hand it over." He demanded, still poised to dump the poison into Edmund's mouth.

Serena exhaled heavily, in both frustration and defeat. She turned towards the windowsill, and plucked the golden queen from the chess set she'd given Edmund, leaving an empty spot between the king and bishop. Edmund recognized it as the chess piece that he'd had so much trouble trying to get to stand up without tipping over.

She carefully pulled the top from the chess piece and slid a thin, plain looking steel rod from its gold casing.

"Here." She said, holding it out for Albion to come get, standing far enough away from him that he would have to let go of Edmund to take it from her hands. "Now just try to get back to Satarra. King Peter and his men'll catch you before you even make it to the border."

Albion snatched the seal from her hands. "Unlike you, my mother wasn't any common whore. She left me something; a few something's, in fact."

He drew an ancient looking stone slab the size of a book from his coat pocket. (Who could possibly have so many pockets, Edmund wondered briefly, now that he was no longer being threatened with death by poison) Albion grabbed Serena by the hand, and made a rough cut on her fingertip. He took the drop of blood that collected and let it drip onto the stone.

Instantly, there was a flash of blinding light, like that of a signal flare. When Edmund could finally open his eyes again, in front of him was a swirling portal. He could occasionally see the landscapes of far off places in its depths.

Suddenly, how the archer who had shot him as well as the men who'd taken Serena prisoner disappeared from sight became apparent to Edmund. They'd simply stepped into the doorway.

But something was wrong, Edmund sensed. The light of the portal flickered, and no one image came into focus. All there he could see was a maelstrom of colors and blurred lines. Albion must have made the same deduction.

"You mad little witch! What have you done?" He demanded, his hand wrapped tightly around the seal.

* * *

**Yay! More suspense! **

**I've always thought that the fact that nobody could ever catch the people trying to kill Serena was a bit fishy, didn't you? Now here's the reason, and Ed's figured it all out for you. **

**Thank him, will ya?**

**(I wasn't going to update until next week, but I'm SUPER EXCITED FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER, SO THIS ONE'S COMING AT YA EARLY)**


	27. Chapter 30

"I knew you would come, Albion!" Serena said, her face aglow, looking up from trying to undo the ropes binding Edmund to the chair. "Do you remember Meg from the dairy? Of course you don't, you never thought she and the servants were important enough—but I had her sneak into your rooms while you were gone and smash the other slab, the one you need to find your way back to Satarra."

"You knew? How much did you know?" Albion asked, his face stark white.

"Everything," Said Serena. "I've known since I was thirteen."

"What did you do? What did you do, Serena?"

"I took the seal with me when I left three years ago—yes, I took it. I don't pretend to be stupid enough to believe that it'd have stayed safe in the Treasury vault."

"You _stole _it, you-you—"

"It was mine to take! I only took it because I knew someone else would try to take it. I hadn't thought that you would, but then I found out that Father was dying. What kind of poisoner kills his victim slowly? One that still has something to gain from him. You were waiting for father to produce the seal, for him to give it to one of sons. You didn't think he'd leave it to a daughter. "

"He would never have! No mere _woman_ could ever—"

"And you've been trying to kill me ever since! At least, until you realized that the seal was missing. Then you tried to have be captured and brought back to Satarra—as if I would have given the seal to you after that.

"And then you tried to stop me from ever being queen by having Atari killed. Don't think I don't know a thing about the rules of succession. If I had married him I could've still been queen. But you needed me to marry someone foreign, poor Helios, for example. You told him that I was in Narnia."

"I should have snapped your neck as a baby! You're nothing but my little sister, just a spoiled brat of a princess." He said. It would have sounded dismissive and belittling, had it not been for the unmistakable tremors in his voice.

"You see, Albion. I never made the mistake of misjudging my siblings. Damian has his horses and hunting dogs, Allister his music and poetry; but you, you were always _fascinated_ by the very thought of power." Serena drew herself up to her fullest height, and Edmund had never thought she could've been so magnetic and so frightening at once. "You can't leave this room, Albion. Not with the seal in your hands. You don't know where your doorway'll send you. You'll never find your way back to Satarra."

"You've never done a day's work in your life! How can you _possibly _even expect to be queen? Pelt Chambertin with letters asking advice every morning?"

"You still don't understand anything! Haven't you noticed that taxes are still being raised and lowered? That just a week ago Duke Barnabas and his family were rounded up for fraud? That there's been a treaty signed with Mede about sharing Gooseneck Harbor?"

"You?" He asked with a mix of outrage and disbelief.

"Yes, me." Serena replied icily. "I _have_ been pelting Chambertin with letters, and he's been doing everything as I say, to very last point." She paused briefly. "You've lost, Albion."

Albion did indeed look like he'd lost. He gaped for words, staring blankly at the flickering portal in front of him. When he turned, there was a crazed, reddish glint in his black eyes. "I can still kill you."

"You can," Serena acknowledged. "But that would change nothing."

He paused thoughtfully. Behind him, the flickering portal cast a strange, multicolored light on their faces. "Alright then. Him first." He pointed at Edmund, drawing a knife from its casing as he began to stride purposefully at him, the blade angled to be rammed into Edmund's windpipe.

Serena's eyes widened. She hadn't expected this. "Don't, Albion! You've already lost, there's no real po—"

"You've taken everything from me! Now watch me do the same, if it's any comfort, at least you'll be dead with him!" Albion snarled, his hands raised.

Behind them, the flickering portal cast a strange, multicolored light on their faces.

Quick as thought, Serena reached down and plucked a dagger from Edmund's belt. She stepped between the two. Albion's blade was pointed at Edmund, and not her, and she ducked beneath it easily. Serena drove Edmund's dagger into Albion's chest with so much force that it sank in to the hilt; it helped that Albion, in his rage-drive craze had practically ran into her blade.

She gave him a generous shove towards the doorway, and he tumbled inside. Edmund caught the sight of Albion tumbling through the solid-liquid of the portal, towards what looked like the fuzzy outline of a great marble palace. He clutched a gold locket he'd ripped from Serena's neck during their brief struggle as red blood blossomed against the black of his shirt, creating an ever-growing splotch of dark scarlet. Despite it all, he wore a look of triumph.

With another great flash of light, the doorway closed. In its place was the plain wall of Edmund's bedroom.

Serena ignored it all. She dove at his bed, and for a second Edmund thought that the night's ordeal had tired her out to the point where she was looking for a nap. Instead she grabbed the dagger he'd told her about from beneath his pillow and began using it to saw at the ropes tying him to the chair.

"I thought you weren't listening when I told you about the knife."

"Of course I was," She replied, freeing him. "And I would have guessed that there was one beneath your left pillow—because you're left handed—anyway."

"I would've never thought that you knew anything about—"

"Nobody did." Serena said. "Nobody ever guessed, ever thought for a second…"

"You're going to be a great queen." He told her, standing up and rubbing at his chafed wrists. "Look what you've already done, with the taxes and treaties and…" He trailed off. Not a single messenger or letter from Satarra had come Serena's way since her father died. And he'd never seen her send anything, either. "How'd you do it?" He asked curiously.

She froze. "I'd write letters to Chambertin, ask him to say that it was his idea." She said carefully.

"No, but _how_. I mean, how'd you send all those letters to him from thousands of miles away?"

"The usual, you know, how it's always done—"

"You would have had to tell Meg that Albion was in Narnia _after_ he arrived, she had to have gotten your message in little more than an hour; I mean it just doesn't make sense." Edmund said, thinking hard. "How'd you do it, Serena?"

"Satarra's large, but it's always had an impressive courier system; the main problem was to get messages to the border as quickly as possible." She said, hoping that the answer would satisfy him.

"Oh." He thought about it. "So how did you?"

She flushed a deep red, and looked outside pointedly.

_Trees_. And the Narnian sort, the kind that could move extended westward deep into the mountains. Possibly deep enough to make a chain of them to the Satarran border. And who had told Serena how to make them dance, or carry messages?

"You got that out of me, didn't you?" He asked quietly.

"No, no. Lucy told me that they could move, but you—"

"So you _lied_ to make me tell you?" It felt like being slapped in the face, like suddenly being slapped awake.

"No, I just—"

"Yes, you did! You-you tricked me into telling you how." He stopped to give her a long look. "You really are clever, Serena."

"Ed, I—"

"You know what else you are? A liar. What did you do, Serena? _What did you do?_"

"You don't understand, I—"

"Just explain." He said harshly.

She closed her eyes and sighed. "I sent them with your name on them." She admitted. "And since the replies were addressed to you too, I'd take them off your desk. But I—"

"Fine." He cut her off. Edmund didn't want to hear her continue. "Fine."

"You have to understand, it was the only way to—"

"The only way was to _lie_ to me? You know, I really thought I could've believed you, could've believed that you actually did—"

"I didn't lie to you about that, Ed, I never lied about us."

"Of course you did. What _haven't _you been lying about all this time?" He snapped back.

"I never lied about you, about lo—"

"Oh, look," He said bitterly. "You're lying again."

"Ed, please, you really have to understand that—"

"Albion's gone now, right? I think you can go back to Satarra now—now that you've got what you want."

"I lied about the messages, but Ed, I really do love you. You have to believe me about that, if nothing else."

"I don't think that matters anymore." He said coldly. Edmund had made the mistake of trusting the wrong people once, and he'd wasn't about to do it again.

"Please, Ed, just—"

"You can leave now, Serena. Now that I'm not going to be anything useful to you anymore."

"That's what you think, then."

"Yes." He said, in a tone that discouraged any further discussion.

She stood there, silently watching him for a long time. Abruptly, she turned on her heel and wrenched open the door. It slammed shut with deafening finality.

He picked up an alabaster statuette of a faun and threw it. It shattered and splintered the wood-paneled wall of opposite his bed.

He didn't feel any better.

* * *

**Oh no, the drama just doesn't stop!**

**I've always written Serena as a clever woman, and even though she's got no idea how to use a sword or shoot arrows like Lucy and Susan, she's got some spunk and brains to make up for it. It's kind of my way of making sure she isn't helpless. **

**We all know think of Ed as the smart one, and I just don't think he'd have been attracted to someone who couldn't keep up with him mentally anyway—though that may have changed, after he's found out that she's been using this the entire time.**

**Ooooh where's this going?**


	28. Chapter 31

"You're looking peaky, Ed. Maybe you should go back to bed." Peter said, frowning at his drawn face.

"I'm fine." He replied blankly, staring at the paper in front of him. Why couldn't centaurs ever write neatly?

"You don't look fine. I wouldn't be, especially after what happened to you last night."

"It's fine. People have tried to kill me before." Edmund shrugged.

"I wonder why they suddenly decided to kill you." Peter said thoughtfully.

Edmund had told him that the men caught in his study were foreign assassins. He had no desire to explain to Peter how Serena had successfully fooled him into revealing how to use Narnia's trees as a personal delivery system.

"Must be because they thought you'd be on the top floor, not me. This _is_ your suite, technically."

"That makes sense. We have got to do something about the security—good thing Susan decorated the hallway with an old sword. Are you sure you're alright?"

"Fine. Naturally I didn't go to bed last night…"

"Finish this up and go to bed." Peter advised.

"What am I, three?" Edmund asked indignantly, he was a good two inches taller than Peter, for God's sake. It was as if everyone knew about his stupidity.

"Sometimes you are." He replied. "I've got to go review the troops with Oreius—you might as well just take a nap."

Peter left, shutting the door of the study behind him, and Edmund sat behind his desk feeling lonelier than ever.

He scratched out a half-hearted reply to the centaur before putting down his pen to reread his words. Even his own handwriting was putting him to sleep.

The inky black letters began float off the page and swim like tadpoles before his eyes.

Edmund was awoken by the rustle of a piece of paper landing neatly on his desk after being blown into the study through the half-opened window.

Scowling, he got out of the chair and slammed the window shut, but not before sticking his head out the window and saying, "You can stop forwarding these letters, you know! They're not even for me."

He picked up the letter from his desk. _King Edmund_, it was addressed to. The paper was creamy and white. He knew right away who it was really for.

He almost opened his door to go hand it to her, before remembering that if she were around, she would have nicked it right off his desk. His frown deepened, and he slid a finger between the paper and its wax seal.

He opened the letter and began to read—he didn't feel guilty about it. Technically it had been addressed to him.

_HRH Princess Serena_

_Please be advised that three hours before dawn this morning, Prince Albion was discovered fatally stabbed half a mile from the castle gates. Considering the evidence and other personal effects found on his person, we have reasonable suspicion that you were behind the attack._

_As you may well know, Satarran law dictates that __any__ person guilty of killing, maiming or causing bodily harm to, in any manner, a member of the King's immediate family is to be punishable by death. In light of your station, the Council has voted in your favor to have your sentence commuted to EXILE FOR LIFE_ _from Satarra. However, please note that if you are found crossing Satarran borders in violation of your exile, you will be punishable by immediate execution._

_With our sincere regards,_

_THE IMPERIAL COUNCIL_

Edmund reread the letter quickly, just in case he'd read it wrong the first time. Then he quickly folded the letter into a small square and stuffed it into his pocket.

"Lucy? Lucy!" He ran down the stairs two at a time, looking for his sister.

"Ed! You look like you've seen a ghost." She said, as they narrowly missed slamming headlong into each other. "Well, have you?"

"Nevermind that—have you seen Serena? Where is she?"

"You just missed her, Ed. She left this early this morning, woke me up to say goodbye. Said she needed to go to Satarra for something that couldn't wait. It must've been something bad, she was terribly distracted, why?"

"Tell Susan I'll be late for dinner." Edmund muttered, streaking out the door.

"Your Majesty!" The stable boy almost tripped over his feet as he stood up to bow, "I'll have Dancer saddled in about a—"

"I'll do it." He said, running past the boy without giving him the slightest glance. Edmund heaved a saddle onto the horse's back, pausing only to note that Serena's horse was gone. The sight made him feel like having been punched in the gut.

"Don't tell anyone I've left." He instructed the boy, galloping out of the stable and out of the castle gates.

It was only after the countryside began to blend an amalgam of differently hued greens that his mind slowed enough for him to even think properly.

_Just _what _do you think you're doing?_

The question thudded in his head. It was irritating, not because he was repetitively asking himself the same question, but because he didn't know the answer.

On one hand, Serena had lied and schemed her way into finding out how to use Narnia's trees to rule a country from behind a figurative screen; on the other, he couldn't let himself stand by as she made her way to "immediate execution".

His conscience wouldn't let it happen.

It was his conscience, he told himself. She had, after all, still saved his life twice that night. Going after her was human decency. He would have done it for anyone.

Edmund's horse slowed to a stop, and he dismounted to let it take a long drink in a nearby stream and rest from traveling miles at a gallop. While it took in huge gulps of water, he paced the grassy clearing agitatedly.

He would have to change horses, he knew. Edmund wondered if the Abbot at the monastery would lend him one. Serena had almost half a day's head start, and she was almost impossible to catch up with even when they left together from the same stable at the same time. Trying to find her before she reached Satarra without traveling the Pass would be out of the question.

He figured that he could take Aldora's Pass into Satarra and intercept her before she stepped across the border. Then he'd hand her the letter and maybe see to it that she safely found someone to take her in. With that done, he planned to go home and see his life back to the blissfully uneventful way it had been before he'd saved her in the forest all those years ago.

His horse finished drinking, and he steered it back to the main road. They continued to make their way through Narnia's Great Western Wood, which, Edmund paused briefly to remember, Aslan had presented him to when he'd been crowned King of Narnia.

The sun was at a high point in the sky by the time he found himself, dusty and travel-worn, in front of the monastery's gates. He reached out and pulled on the bell's rope twice.

A tall monk—he was even taller than Edmund—came to the gate.

"Yes?" He asked, peering down his long nose at Edmund.

"May I come through?" He inquired. "I've got to go to Satarra—"

"I'm sorry," The monk replied. "But I can't let you through at this time." He made no move to unlock the gates.

"I understand, but I need to be in Satarra. It's urgent."

"My apologies." He said pleasantly. "I have orders, unfortunately."

"But I've already been through Aldora's Pass, if you're worried about keeping it a secret or whatnot, it really is urgent."

"No, no. We never turn down trustworthy travelers. But today I cannot let you through."

"Not even one person? Who desperately needs to be in Satarra? Please Brother…?"

"Brother Pius."

"Brother Pius, you have to understand that I _need_ to go to Satarra. Someone's life depends on it."

"I can't let you through." Brother Pius repeated again patiently.

"I'm the King of Narnia." Edmund said desperately.

"I'm sorry, but that doesn't make any difference. I still cannot let you through."

"This is ridiculous, your Abbot has _always_ opened the gate for me before." He pointed out, feeling positively infuriated. Why were they stopping him when he most urgently needed to use Aldora's Pass?

"Again, sir. I have orders."

"From whom? Your Abbot?"

"Yes. I've been told not to let you through." Brother Pius said, looking slightly bored.

"That's impossible, let me speak to him, then."

"I can't do that. Father is at midday Vespers right now. Perhaps if you would like to wait?"

"I'll call him myself." Edmund snapped. "Abbot! Father! I've got that book I borrowed, don't you want it back?"

"Shh! What are you doing?" Brother Pius asked. "Can't you see that he's in prayer?"

"I _need_ to get to Satarra. If you would just open the gate—"

"I can't do that. The Abbot himself—"

"The Abbot would've let me through! Now where is he?"

"I'm right here, my dear boy." The Abbot said peacefully, walking towards him from inside the monastery with his hands clasped together in front of him, as if he was sleepwalking during prayer.

"Thank God." Edmund sighed, ignoring the look Brother Pius shot him. "I need to go to Satarra, Father, but there seems to be some sort of a mistake, Brother Pius won't open the gate."

"I'm afraid there's no mistake. I cannot let you through the Pass today, Edmund."

"You _must_ be joking." He said in disbelief. "And this _has_ to be a mistake."

"There are no mistakes in life or love, dear boy." The Abbot intoned. "I cannot open these gates for you. St. Angela's convent is a few miles north of here, perhaps you should try there instead; and see if you can make any amends?"

Edmund turned around wordlessly. He needed to go to Satarra, not have his handwriting criticized by another stern, habit-wearing nun.

He rode north until he saw what looked like an ancient country manor loom before him. Peeling gold letters above its entrance told him that he had arrived at St. Angela's.

Unlike with the monastery's gates, St. Angela's opened before the echo of the ringing bell had faded.

"Can I help you?" A strict-looking middle-aged woman asked him.

"Yes, I-I," Edmund couldn't quite understand what he was supposed to do at the nunnery. "Abbot Francis sent me here?" He finally asked, sounding dreadfully clueless—which he was, more or less.

"Ah." She pursed her lips tightly and looked him up and down disapprovingly. "Well, I see you need a new horse, that one looks tired out."

"That would be great, could you?" He asked.

She nodded and took the reins. "Come wait in the courtyard, and _only_ the courtyard." She warned him. "We'll get you a fresh horse, and anything else you'll need." She led Edmund's horse away (but not before giving him another disapproving look), and pointed him in the direction of the convent's courtyard.

The courtyard was lush and green, even though winter was fast approaching. It was kept meticulously neat, with flowerbeds as well as herb gardens. There were two large marble fountains towards each end of the square.

He walked around a carefully pruned rosebush.

And there she was. Sitting on the lip of one of the fountains.

She certainly was resourceful, that Serena. It seemed wrong for him _not_ to have expected her to know about Aldora's Pass, or St. Angela's. In any other situation, he might have laughed aloud. But now all he could do was attempt to string the words in his head together into something coherent, or at least something mildly intelligent.

He took a deep breath, and a step forward.

* * *

**I'm pretty sure this is my last cliffhanger of the story. I quite like them, haven't you noticed?**

**In the meantime, I've began writing the first few chapters of my new Bones fic, centered around Zack, of course. I really look forward to writing as him. One of the most annoying things about Narnia stories is that you have to be super careful about referencing popular culture or technology, and I get to do TONS of that with Zack. I'm thinking about writing it in first person too, from his point of view. It'll be a challenge, because he's got an astronomical IQ and everything, but I've been watching Star Trek, reading Stephen Hawking...SO BRING IT ON! **

**The second challenge involved in writing as Zack is that he's remarkably obtuse, and his character has all this Asperger-ish traits. (I'm not making this up-it's on Wikipedia. And we all know that it's the most reliable source on the web ;D) And in a fabulous contrast, Edmund is like an emotional dowsing rod. I'm always using him to explain away points that I'm trying to make. I'll have to probably make things very, very obvious. **

**Anyway, this pretty much all means that "Pourquoi Moi" is winding down. It's almost over-and I'm almost sad to see it go. I've been writing it and dreaming it up for the last three or four years. So if you haven't left a review yet, you've only got a few more chapters left for you to leave one!**


	29. Chapter 32

Serena threw another crumpled sheet of paper into the fire. She had _several_ letters to write, and had barely finished one of them. Maybe it was because the first was for Ed. It would make more sense for her to move on the other ones she needed to send to Chambertin and Lucy, but thinking of what she would say in Ed's letter would nag at her until she sat down and put something to paper.

If only it weren't so _damn_ hard.

She'd always thought that she was the decisive one, the one that clearly knew what she wanted while he tended to waffle between he wanted to do and what he thought he ought to do. But now Serena knew better. Ed was unequivocal: he kept everything in its own compartment and separate. And when things mixed, he unmixed them with the same dispassion with which Susan approached gardening.

Serena was a smart woman. She'd known it ever since she'd begged Allister into teaching her how to play chess, and beat him after a week's practice. It could be an annoying fact, like when her father's Imperial Council or even Ed complained about inflation and she knew that the quickest fix would be increasing the gold content in each coin for the short term and subsidizing grain for the long term. And she was therefore smart enough to know when giving up was the best—no, only—option.

Ed would get over it, she knew. He would pick up all the pieces, and put everything right back in its place until there was barely a crack or fissure in his unbreakable stronghold of normalcy. She most definitely could not do the same thing because, and here Serena's lips formed a wry smile, there were no pieces left for her to sweep into a dustpan, much less pick up.

_While it may look as if…_

Serena read the first six words of her letter, and promptly balled it up and tossed it into the fireplace.

"Hellfire." She swore. The Sister sitting across from her frowned disapprovingly. But that was just what Serena was: a fire that only a lunatic would set.

"Don't go being too smart for your own good." Mrs. Champlain had scolded her. Serena only wished she'd taken the advice. It'd been stupid of her to even think that she could've had it all. She'd thought all the nights spent lying awake planning could've culminated in some great triumph, but she'd miscalculated and misjudged nearly everything and everyone, so everything fell apart instead.

It was something Ed would have never done. He took things apart before he approached them. That was what he was always doing: studying things until there were no secrets left to reveal, weighing them on his mental scale. He wasn't calculating man; but he was a careful one.

Serena wished that, in all her plotting and maneuvering, she'd taken at least _half_ the caution he did when pouring himself a cup of coffee. He always made sure there was never anything in the way, no one around to slam into him and a pot of hot liquid, a saucer to catch drips. And he'd still scrupulously fill any half-emptied cups at the table while he was at it, too. He didn't even _think_ about it. Ed just seemed to have a sixth sense in that way.

Still, she admitted, no amount of prudence in her planning could have erased the fact that Serena tended to let her impulses make decisions for her. For all her intelligence and outward insouciance, she was still an emotional woman. If only she had stepped back from the situation and considered it. Considered things the way Edmund considered things.

She'd lost Satarra, a country nearly two million square miles in area that her ancestors had fought and died for. Its diamond mines in the north generated countless billions for the crown, and it had an army, forty thousand strong that could be mobilized in under a day. Those were just the facts that Serena had carefully found out but pretended not to know. And the only thing she'd _really_ felt like she'd lost was, well…

People fell in and out of love all the time, she reminded herself. In fact, it happened so often it probably wasn't even love. A fleeting fancy, more like.

And with that in mind, she crossed out _Dear Ed_ and wrote in _King Edmund _with an abrupt, unemotional comma after his name.

She considered that a good enough start, and put down the quill to take a walk outside. She could compose the letter in her head; Serena didn't fancy using up all of the convent's fine paper.

It was so cold the air stung, like a smug reminder that she should have bothered to grab a cloak in her rush to leave Narnia.

She walked over to the marble fountain at the end of the courtyard, taking care not to look up, because the sky was a beautiful clear blue, and blue meant Edmund. She sat down on the edge of the fountain to think. Serena had been born at sea, and no matter how faint or how distant, the sound of water was comforting.

She had made her mistakes, Serena knew, and now she had to begin to think about how to fix, or at least live with the effects. Returning to Satarra was out of the question, as was Narnia. Perhaps Helios would be able to help her, for the sake of old friendships…

The subtle sound of movement stirred her out of her thoughts. From behind a rosebush appeared the man that she'd convinced herself that she'd never loved. And, if her memory didn't fail her, Serena knew hadn't ever loved her, either.

He was dressed simply, like he always was. He also looked dusty and tired, with his eyebrows raised in a clear expression of surprise.

For some reason him suddenly appearing in front of her unsettled Serena more than the last time. And the last time, he had come bursting in with a bloody sword in his hand while her brother held a dagger to her throat.

But Serena had enough fight left in her not to take things sitting down.

* * *

She stood up the second she saw him.

"What could you _possibly_ want?" She asked him acidly. Her violet eyes, which he'd once thought were like the sky at dawn were dark as midnight with fury.

He opened his mouth to reply, but stopped. She was wearing the same dress from yesterday, because he remembered giving her a linen napkin for the faint stain on her sleeve at breakfast that morning. He also recalled appreciating the deep, textured purple of her dress, which wrapped around her waist nicely and exactly as it should. It didn't look as if she'd slept at all, and her hair was coming loose from the silver and citrine clip holding it captive in twist at the back of her head. Wisps of it curled around her face. Her lips were the color of crushed peony petals, and he knew them to be just as soft. He thought she was quite beautiful.

What use was there for words at all, at this point?

"Serena," He sighed instead.

"_What?" _She said, looking more mutinous than remorseful.

"Forget it." He snapped back. He hadn't done the lying, stealing or cheating.

"Believe me, I have." Serena replied icily.

There was silence, with the only sound coming from the gurgle of the fountain. He felt his thoughts trying desperately to regroup themselves so that he'd have something coherent to say.

"I don't even think I have enough fingers to count everything you did."

"That would be _ten_." She spat. "You could very well just say ten."

"Well it _is_ more than ten, isn't it?"

She huffed and crossed her arms, which he took as meaning that he was right.

"_Goddammit, Serena."_ He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling frustrated.

"Shut up." She said, refusing to meet his gaze.

"No!" He shot back—which was a first. He'd always tamely shut up before. "Didn't it _ever_ occur to you that maybe what you were doing was, I don't know, _questionable_?"

"Yes, it did. I don't pretend to be innocent." Though she sounded more accusatory that repentant.

"Oh, you're the _farthest_ thing from innocent." He fumed. "I suppose at least we know how badly you wanted to be queen, now."

"I _never _wanted to be Queen, I would've been happy to be a princess for the rest of my life." She said bitterly.

"Yes, and all your plotting was just a little side hobby." He said sarcastically. "I'd forgotten that you had the attention span of a bloody goldfish."

"You've heard Albion and the others talk. They never thought princesses—especially me—would ever amount to anything."

Sometimes Edmund wished he didn't understand her as well as he did. Now, for example.

"To prove a bloody point, Serena. _To prove a bloody point_."

"It was pointless anyway!" She shouted back. "Everything, Ed. I gave up _everything_ for you."

"For me? You _lied_ to me."

"Can you think of a better way?"

"Plenty!" He didn't quite recall the last time he'd been this angry. "You could have just _told_ me, for example."

"And then what? You'd help me? Of course not!" She shook her head angrily, causing several more locks of hair to escape from her hairclip and hang loose around her face.

"I could've talked you out of it! How. Completely. Stupid." He hammered out. "When are you going to learn that there are more important things than proving a point?"

"Stupid? Do you want to know what's stupid? Going to war with Mede over that port—because no one else bothered to think that the only thing coming out of that war would've been dead soldiers." She said, which would've been an acceptable point, had it not been so morally ambiguous.

"_You didn't have to lie for it!"_

"You and your _rules_, Ed!" She retorted, as if having a conscience was a bad thing. "Do you think anyone would've believed me? I'm Oberon's silly daughter, remember?"

"There. Are. Better. Ways. To. Make. A. Point." He said, through gritted teeth.

"When you're _you_, maybe, but—"

"—that's not an excuse for lying—"

"—it never was! But if you think about it relative to—"

"—and you didn't just lie, you—"

"—people would've _died_—"

"—there's also cheating and stealing in there, and of course making me _think_ that you—"

"—everything! I've lost everything saving your stupid neck—"

They were causing quite a scene, Edmund realized. He was also sure that if this continued, the nuns would unceremoniously jettison him from their convent without a second thought.

"Would you please just _sit down _so we can figure a few things out?" He demanded, now painfully aware that Serena knew that she'd more than risked her own life for him.

"Why? There's nothing left to figure—"

"Because I love you!" He bellowed, before he could even stop himself.

A stunned look crossed her face, and she promptly sat down without protest.

He shook his head, rubbing at his forehead as he did.

In any normal situation, this would have been the part where he heaved a sigh of relief. But Edmund had a feeling that it could either get a lot worse or a lot better. He didn't like that idea.

He recouped enough of his wits to finally say, "So you knew about Satarran law saying that—"

"Yes." She said flatly. "If I stab my brother, I'll have an appointment with the executioner the next morning."

He winced. "You don't have to put it like that."

"Decapitated." She hissed. "Hung. Drowned. Garroted. Impaled. _Poisoned_."

"Would you _stop_?"

"My personal favorite? Buried alive." She said; clearly pleased with the way he flinched.

"Dear God, Serena."

"And I suppose if they wanted to be creative—"

"Stop."

She did, but continued to glare at him murderously.

"How could you have been stupid enough to use my knife on Albion, if you knew that?" He finally asked.

"I don't know." She replied, and was quiet for a long time. "Because you would have done the same thing for me." She concluded.

He didn't have to think to know that it was true. Even when she'd betrayed him, he would have. It was amazing how illogical she'd made him.

Maybe it meant that she did love him, after all. A voice inside his head quickly affirmed it. He knew it was more than wishful thinking. He wondered how he could've ever believed that she didn't.

"You—"

"Don't make me say it again." She whipped her head to the side and refused to look at him.

Edmund regarded her curiously. Her death grip on the lip of the fountain that she was sitting on loosened. He could tell that maybe she'd just realized it herself. She'd probably spent her entire ride to the St. Angela's trying to think of why she'd stabbed Albion to save him.

Serena continued to stare intently at a bed of purple tulips and fading hyacinths at the other end of the courtyard. He wanted to tell her that their colors were just faint imitations of what purple should be, compared to her eyes. It was like comparing firefly lights to the sun. He imagined that maybe they were only violet because she was looking at them. Maybe the second she turned away they would fade to a bleached white.

He sat down next to her, and reached out for her hand; suddenly remembering that the first time she'd kissed him, they'd been sitting at a fountain just like this one.

"Serena, I—"There were thoughts and feelings that there were no words for, he realized. Sometimes there were things that even he knew to be ineffable. He kissed her, catching her lips the second she turned to face him again.

It suddenly dawned on him that there was something more than loving someone. There was also _needing_ someone, practically the way he needed air. Her finger were tightly entwined with his, and something told him they belonged that way. If he knew how long forever was, he would most certainly—

"God, Ed, I—" Serena pulled herself free and took a gigantic gulp of air. She struggled to find something to say, and for some reason she looked more furious than anything.

"_What?" _He asked her, feeling slightly annoyed.

She rose from her perch on the fountain so swiftly; he could hear the air _whoosh_. She began to stalk away from him.

"This is so stupid." She muttered to herself.

"It's not." He said, standing and walking after her.

"It is!"

"What part, exactly? Because I'm quite sure that—"

"Everything!"

"No, none of it is." He insisted, following her in circles around the fountain.

"Don't even. It's so completely idiotic, I don't even have the words to—"

"It isn't stupid in the slightest way."

"To you! But for me? This is just pure—pure—pure—" She threw her hands in the air trying to think of the right word.

"Insanity? It's insanity. But it's not _stupid_." He pointed out. In truth, Edmund had long ago realized that sanity and Serena were mutually exclusive.

"It's _ridiculous_."

It suddenly occurred to him that he could just walk around the fountain clockwise, instead of chasing her counterclockwise. He turned around, and she walked straight into his chest, like, well, clockwork.

"I'm mad at you! I practically hate you!" She ranted, swatting at his chest but only laying a few glancing swipes. "You've absolutely no idea—"

He grabbed her hands and forced them down to waist-level. Her lips were pressed in a hard, trembling line, and he was quite sure those were tears he saw in her eyes.

"You could just say it, you know." He said gently. "It'd be easier."

"Say what?" She asked tightly, even though she looked like she knew.

"Just say it. You know it's what you want to say." He urged her.

"I won't. You know, the way here, Ed. I was about _this_," And here she gestured with her sideways nod of her head because her hands were still in his grip. "Close to finding something to jump off of."

He knew that it was true. It was the kind of brash, impulsive thing Serena would suddenly get it in her head to do. And of course, she'd change her mind in an instant if she sat down to think about it.

"Well, I'm glad you didn't." He said seriously. "But why would you want to, in the first place?" He asked, attempting to coax it out of her.

"I'm not going to say it." She said, setting her chin at a defiant angle. "I don't even _mean_ it anymore, I—"

"I won't let you go." He said firmly.

"You won't let me go unless I say it?" She sniffed. "You have the negotiating skills of a six-year old."

"No. I wouldn't let you go, either way." He replied, in the way that made it clear that he didn't mean "letting go" in the physical sense.

He could see her struggling to recover as she mentally groped around for the right thing to say. It wasn't often for Serena to be at a loss for words.

"Serena." He said carefully, looking into her eyes deliberately and with the clear intention of convincing her that whatever she'd told herself as she'd made her way to the St. Angela's wasn't true.

"I love you." She said, softly and with an air of disbelief.

He released the tight grip he'd had on her hands. Now that he'd gotten what he'd wanted, he didn't have anything to say.

There was a tense silence, like one that had been set on a knife blade.

"Do you want to try that again?" She asked softly, reaching up in an attempt to flatten his windswept hair and rest her hand against the side of her face.

He nodded dumbly. He kissed her again.

He'd always wondered if she knew what he meant when he kissed her. Now he knew that she understood him perfectly. She always had, even if he hadn't believed it at first.

Her lips were cold from the winter's day; her hands a few degrees warmer because he'd been holding them.

He wasn't quite sure what the source of his lightheadedness was, lack of air or her. The latter, he hoped. What could something as mundane as breathing mean compared to Serena?

He enclosed his arms around her waist, and drew her closer. There would be time for words later, right now there were things to say that were purely ineffable.

She finally pulled herself out from their kiss, and buried her face in the curve between his neck and shoulder.

"I even think I love you more now than when I said it last spring." She whispered. "And I'm almost too sorry to even begin apologizing for the whole…thing."

"I really don't give a damn about the trees." He responded, and he knew that it was true. It had been a clever plan, and he was quite sure that if it were himself in her situation, he would have done just about the same thing. "You know the one thing I cared about."

"Yes." She said, and that was enough.

Serena let him go, and slipped his arms off from around her waist. They sat down, side by side, on the lip of the fountain again, except this time her hand was tightly held in his.

It was quiet again, but it was the welcome kind. Like when the orchestra paused so that the audience could properly soak in the great composer's newest work.

"I can't go home to Satarra anymore." She finally said, a trace of grief in her voice. "Can't ever properly say goodbye to my father, thank Chambertin and Meg, tell anyone the truth."

"Well," He spoke slowly. "I suppose you could always marry me."

"What?"

"I'd like you to marry me—if you want to, of course." The words tumbled out before he even had a chance to think about them.

"Ed, I—"

"You don't have to have an answer for me now." He said quickly. "But I want you to think about it."

"You do realize that I own next to nothing now, that I'm not inheriting any kingdoms anymore." She pointed out, in case he hadn't known.

"One kingdom between the two of us is enough, I think." He said. "I could even do without any kingdoms, as long as you'd marry me." He realized, with a small shock—but not necessarily a bad one—that he'd meant it.

There was another long silence. Even without looking, he could tell she was smiling.

"What now, then?" She asked.

"We go home." He said, turning to look at her. The dazzling kaleidoscope of violets and purples had returned to her eyes. He was almost glad there wasn't a word to describe them.

He stood, and pulled her up from her seat. They walked across the courtyard together and hand in hand.

"You'll be needing these, I suspect." The nun who'd opened the gate for Edmund said. She was holding the reins to both his and Serena's horses.

"You knew I wasn't staying, Abbess?" Serena asked.

"A girl like you, embroidering altar cloths for the rest of your life?" The Abbess asked, shaking her head. "Please. Besides, Abbot Francis and I knew that this young man would come to his senses sooner or later."

She laughed gently, and they joined in.

"Well, good luck to you both." She said, and reached up to give them both a kiss on the cheek.

"Are you allowed to do that?" The question popped out before Edmund had a chance to stop himself.

"I think God'll forgive me this time." The Abbess smiled. "It's not so much a sin when you're already taken."

"Or it becomes the sin of sins." Serena interjected snippily.

Edmund honestly expected the Abbess to yank Serena's hair out, at the very least.

Instead, she threw her head back and laughed out loud. Wiping away tears of mirth, the Abbess squinted at the sundial in the center of the courtyard. "You two should go, if you want to be home by nightfall." She said.

"Thank you, Abbess." Edmund said, taking the horses' reins from the Abbess' hands and helping Serena onto her horse.

"It was more than a pleasure, dear. Come back for tea once in a while, Serena." Said the Abbess, opening the gate to let them out.

The gate shut again, and they were left with each other and nothing else but the road ahead.

Edmund pulled himself onto his own horse. Beside him, Serena smiled as she surveyed the long, winding mountain path that lay before them.

"Are you ready to go home?" She asked.

"Yes." He said.

Edmund had always thought that the road between the end of Aldora's Pass high in the mountains was the most agonizing part of any trip abroad. It always seemed that he traveled too slowly, and that Cair Paravel never drew any closer.

He considered the way home. It wound, snakelike, through mountains, valleys and forests. And then he considered Serena, sitting neatly beside him. There probably wouldn't be much idle chatter or laughing about nothing in particular as they traveled home, he knew. But it didn't bother him. After all, they had many more years together to do just that.

To Edmund, the road ahead suddenly didn't seem so long.

* * *

**I'm almost done with this story! It saddens me a little, because that means I don't have any more chapters that I can write from inside Serena's head, which is much more fun. She's just so much trippier—not in the high of reefer sense, though. (I love that: trippy. One of my reviewers (lemme see who it is: aha! Noel Ardnek) left it for me) Admittedly, Ed is much more poetic—I just don't get these great, epic metaphors when I'm writing as Serena. (Come to think of it, very few of my chapters are actually written from her perspective)**

**Wow, I just did a parentheses inside a parentheses. That's a little strange, but I guess it's grammatically correct, if not confusing?**

**Oh, and I plan to end this story with a two-part epilogue. The original Pourquoi Moi had a sequel, but I don't think it's necessary, and I'm too lazy to write it, anyway. But I promise that the epilogue'll bring this story to the same ending, so it'll be fine. I'm not sure if I even need to second part of the epilogue…but I guess if it's extraneous, you guys can let me know, and I'll delete it for the posterity :D**

**ALSO.**

**I've decided on the basic premise of my new Bones fic, which I'll try to have up along with the next chapter of Pourquoi Moi soon:**

**Now that Zack is out of his psychiatric facility, his therapist recommends/mandates that he write a clinical diary; for both her and himself to review. He hasn't changed too much, but everyone else has. Hodgins and Angela are married and expecting a baby, for example. So now Zack has a few tasks in front of him: get his job back, straighten out what's left of his life, get a girl, and more importantly, **_**keep her**_**.**

**I'm planning for the title to be "C:Users/ZackAddy/Desktop/CLINICAL_DIARY", but I don't know if FFN will let me use a title like that. Oh well. I'll let you guys know what it is when it comes out.**


	30. Chapter 33

Lucy finished her painting just as the sun rose high enough for its rays to filter in through her window with a dazzling brightness. She wiped her fingers clean on the soiled rag sitting on the ledge of her easel and considered her work. Even she hadn't expected a finger painting to turn out so well.

Her watercolor depicted the sun either setting or rising—rising, Lucy decided after a second's deliberation —with layered dots and swipes of pale blues and rosy oranges.

She blew on the painting to make sure it was dry. Now she could take it downstairs for the usual review process. First she would go to Peter, who'd laugh and commend her for completing her best work yet. Then Susan would inspect it in minute detail before pointing out a spot or two that she could clean up if she _really_ wanted her painting to be perfect. And then, finally, Lucy would hand the painting off the Edmund, who'd scrutinize it critically for a long time before finally saying that he couldn't very well judge her art, and suggest that maybe she could tuck the painting away in a closet for a month or two before looking her work over with a newer perspective.

Of course, she would also ask Serena, who would consider the painting carefully, like Edmund, and then propose a little touch there and a deeper shade of blue here.

All in all, Lucy felt that her painting was ready for any scrutiny they could throw at it.

Tucking the canvas under her arm, she skipped down the spiral stairs and into the Great Hall. She pilfered a slice of toast from the rack and munched it, looking around. There were very few diners left in the hall. Completing her painting had taken longer than expected, Lucy realized.

She'd just grabbed her second slice of freshly toasted bread when she heard the commotion. Lucy groaned to herself, and wondered whose turn it was to deal with whatever situation had come up. If it was Peter, she would have to sit with Susan and attempt to make the circumstances of his trouble seem as unimportant as possible. Or, Lucy would have to sit with Edmund as he paced his study, and act like she was having a debate with him, even though the only person he was really trying to reason with was himself. And then Serena would invariably come up with a very simply answer to a complicated problem, which Edmund would frown and deem not nearly enough for the problems at hand. Though, privately, Lucy always felt that Serena made perfect sense even when Edmund didn't.

The few stragglers left in the hall were muttering about something being moved into the courtyard. She set down her toast, picked up her painting, and pushed through the doors of the Great Hall. She wondered what strange things she'd find in the courtyard this time.

There were three wagons sitting before the front steps of the castle, filled with furniture and other odds and ends. It was as if a very wealthy man, with very expensive tastes was moving into Cair Paravel.

Serena and Edmund stood together, side by side on the front steps, with their backs to her, watching the men unload the wagons.

"If I knew you'd come with half of Satarra's fortune, I would've asked you to marry me a long time ago." He told Serena.

Lucy had always thought that there had been something between her brother and her best friend. Something to do with the way he said her name, and the way she rolled her eyes at him. But Lucy hadn't expected them to be _getting married_.

"Oh, no," Serena said, not noticing Lucy standing behind her, "This is everything my father left me that doesn't belong to Satarra. It'd have belonged to me either way, but I'm surprised they still sent it to me, Chambertin must've—"

"Wait, is this true?" Lucy demanded. "You two are getting married?"

They turned around quickly, looking relieved that it was Lucy who'd asked.

"Yes." Serena said, smiling.

"Oh, so you _are_ marrying me now." He said, putting an arm around her waist and laughing.

"You prat, you didn't know?" Lucy asked.

"No," He gave her a very jovial scowl. "I was waiting to ask her_ properly_—but it seems that isn't very necessary anymore."

"You and propriety…" Serena muttered, as if there were dead beetles she valued more than propriety.

"You're getting _married_." She repeated.

It seemed like an impossibility. Quick-tempered Serena and her cool, calmly collected brother. Serena, who loved to ride through Narnia's forests as fast as her horse could carry her, marrying quiet, careful Edmund. If it weren't for the looks on their face, Lucy would have believed it to be a joke.

"Yes. If that's alright with you, of course." Serena added anxiously.

"It's brilliant!" Lucy said ecstatically. "Does this mean you're staying?"

She smiled and nodded. Lucy noticed for the first time how incongruous and strangely well matched they were. Serena, in a dress of deep reddish purples with carefully embroidered designs of gold thread that were just muted enough to be tasteful, and Edmund in a plain dark blue shirt. More than anything, Lucy wanted to believe it was possible.

It had to be, Lucy decided. It would be almost wrong if it wasn't.

He made some wry, clever comment that only Serena could hear, and they both laughed.

Serena must know she's pretty, she thought. Of course she would—her looks seemed so delicate and finely formed, and she'd refined them somehow, so that they were more than simply plain. But Serena would never believe that she was beautiful. Right now she was though, smiling and laughing with Edmund. He wasn't far behind her aesthetically, having inherited their father's dapper, if somewhat understated good looks, which the ladies at Cair Paravel often gathered in corners to whisper about. Lucy wondered if Serena agreed with them, she had to, how couldn't she? Surely, more than anyone, Serena would appreciate his quiet, almost nondescript—

"Are you alright there, Lu?" He asked her, frowning just a little.

"No, no, I'm fine." She assured them, though they both look unconvinced.

"I don't think she quite believes it, yet." Serena observed to Edmund.

"Well, neither do I. I used to think you had standards." He replied.

"There's no point in being self-deprecating. We already know that—"

"This is perfect." Lucy's face hurt from smiling. But it was true. She couldn't think of two people who needed each other more. Serena to pull Edmund out of his study once in a while, and him to reason her out of doing brash, impulse-driven things. "Are you two planning yet? Like for the wedding, and—"

"Small." They interjected together.

"Don't you dare mention this to Susan; she'll invite half of Narnia before the day's over." Serena warned.

"And don't tell Peter either, I don't think he'd—"

"Don't tell me what?" Peter asked interrupting Edmund and walking over with an unusually springy bounce to his step.

"About your Christmas present, we're—er—planning something large for you this year." Lucy said quickly.

"Oh, alright." He said, clearly satisfied. "Mr. Tumnus just came, saying that he'd spotted the White Stag."

"So?" Edmund asked, unimpressed.

"God, Ed. If we catch it, we can make it grant _any_ wish." Peter said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Even if I asked for twenty more wishes?" Cynicism seemed to be Edmund's natural state, and Lucy could scarcely remember a time when it wasn't.

"Well, _almost_ any wish." Peter conceded.

"And you expect _me_ to come along?"

"Even the girls are, and what would a hunt be without you?"

"More or less the same." Edmund replied, with no lack of taciturnity.

"Please come, Ed. It'd be so much better, if you could come." Lucy implored. He would go, of course. Edmund was rarely in a better mood.

"Fine." He sighed through his nose, sounding less enthusiastic than Lucy knew he really was.

"Alright then!" Peter clapped both his siblings on the back. "We'll leave in an hour!"

He hurried off to get ready, no doubt, for their hunt. Lucy followed after him ostensibly, though she stopped and hid herself behind the doorframe behind Serena and her brother to eavesdrop.

"Huh. Right when I just got back from chasing after you." He said, trying—but failing—to sound terribly inconvenienced. (What chase? Lucy wondered to herself)

"Well, now you've had plenty of practice." Serena replied sweetly. "You may just get you twenty wishes, after all."

"We can tell Peter as soon as we get back from the hunt, he'll be in the good mood then." He said thoughtfully. "He has to know, sooner or later."

"And then he'll start _planning_ things." She complained. "He and Susan won't let us get married without a terrible fuss."

Lucy felt slightly crestfallen. She'd had the loveliest image of Serena in a beautiful white dress, the kind grand enough for a princess, making her way down the aisle in a lavishly decorated Great Hall…

"That should be the least of your worries, love." Edmund said reassuringly. "I don't think getting married'll mean we're going to argue any less."

"Good." Said Serena. "Imagine how bored we'd be if we didn't."

Lucy smiled. If anything, a little arguing was exactly what made them perfect.

The future looked bright.

* * *

**This chapter is actually here mostly as an ending to Pourquoi Moi—what comes after it would be the epilogue. I know, many of you are wondering what happens to Serena when the Pevensies return to England. I guess we'll have to wait until the epilogue to find out! (I REFUSE TO PUBLISH THE EPILOGUE UNTIL I GET AN UPDATE ON OFF DREAMING'S KELLYN WOOD FIC. BECAUSE NOW THAT KELLYN AND DREW ARE TOGETHER AND ON THE SAME QUIDDITCH TEAM TOGETHER, IT CAN ONLY GET MORE AMAZING. SO YEAH, OFF DREAMING. I'M HOLDING MY OWN EPILOGUE HOSTAGE. UPDATE!)**

**Whew. Anyway:**

**I also want to mention that I may be editing some of Pourquoi Moi's earlier chapters in the near future, so if you get updates to stuff like "Chapter 6", don't worry about it. There's probably just been a few adjustments I wanted to make before I officially declare Pourquoi Moi "COMPLETE".**

**I've published the first two chapters of my Bones fic, and it's called C:Users:ZackAddy:ClinicalDiary. Here's the summary:" ****After his release from the asylum, Zack finds that everything and everyone has changed, while he has not—he does have a newfound love for Chocolate Chex, though—follow in his clinical diary: Can he get his job back? Can he get a girl? And can he keep her?" I may not update that for a while, since school's just been piling up on me lately.**

**TOODLES. Oh, and reminder: you only have a few more chapters left to leave a review!**


	31. Epilogue, Part I

_Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry  
You don't know how lovely you are  
I had to find you, tell you I need you  
Tell you I've set you apart  


* * *

_

Edmund made his way up the steep hill both wanting and not wanting to see what was at its top. It was old, ancient, and time-worn. But it still had a pristine sort of perfection.

Old Narnians had visited it dutifully, even when the Telmarines before Caspian ruled. They admired its beauty, told their children why it was so important.

Its white marble glowed at sunset, they said. Its pieces perfectly cut to fit together without letting in a puff of air, let alone a drop of water. And nobody in living memory knew how the heavy marble had been brought to the top of the hill, or how the centuries had spared it from harm.

Edmund couldn't care less.

It hurt just to look at it. The solemn rectangular shape was sober in its simplicity. It gave no clue as to what it was made for, but everyone knew.

Stupid, stubborn Serena, he thought. Why couldn't she have given up?

He remembered the story Trumpkin had told him while they watched the churning sea aboard the Dawn Treader, word for word:

"Well, she went lookin' for you when you didn't come back from your hunting, didn't she? Left at first light the next morning—stayed up all of the night before waiting, too. Your Lord Perinore was busy getting' some search party or summat, but she went ahead on her own, said he was takin' too long. She should've waited. Rode across Narnia for the better part of a day lookin'. Well, that horse of hers got tired. He threw her. Poor thing had no choice, said he was ready to drop dead. Still, (And here Trumpkin let out a sad sigh) he shouldn't have. He threw her, and she rolled down the steep, rocky side of that hill by Lantern Waste. Broke six or seven bones, the doctor said. Poor girl could only lie there and hope someone found her. Well, it was winter when your majesties disappeared. Mighty dark, too. Old Granny Badger found her after she'd spent the night lyin' in a ditch, cold and hurt. They took her back to Cair Paravel, couldn't put her in her own room because the bed had been smashed to pieces, so they lay her down in the bed next door. Yours, I believe. Nothin' the doctor could do for her. They tried to find Queen Lucy's cordial, but nobody knew where it'd been hidden. And even if they did, who could've broken into the treasury for it? Serena died the next morning."

At this point Edmund had heard enough, but the dwarf pressed on:

"If she'd waited for someone to go with her she wouldn't have, it was the fever from spending a night in the cold that killed her. But you mustn't blame yourself," Trumpkin added kindly. "She could've let her horse rest, or waited for Perinore's search party. Said so herself, before she died."

Edmund wished he hadn't known. It would have been better to think that Serena had lived happily married to someone else, at least. But instead she'd died looking for him, in his bed, no less. Where just the night before they'd stayed awake until dawn talking about the life they would have together. He had made her promises: that she did not have to become a queen of any sort, that they would never argue before bed, that—unless there was an imminent emergency—he would be in bed by an hour before midnight every day.

They had breached the subject of children, and he had decided that she would be a terrific mother, in her own strange and wonderful way.

It seemed so long ago now, like memories from a bygone era. Which they were, he reminded himself.

He sat down in the lush, green Narnian grass. Next to him, a bird was pecking away at the ground, oblivious to the approaching doom.

"I loved her, you know." He said to the bird. "And if I could've done anything to save…Well, I would have." He finished lamely. The bird looked up and cocked its head to the side before beginning to search for a worm or other insect to eat.

There were almost no talking birds left in Narnia. This was ridiculous. It was the end of the world, and he was sitting here, talking to a bird that probably didn't even understand him.

"'This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but a whimper.'" He said now, directing his words at the marble tomb. "T.S. Elliot, Serena. You would have liked him."

He tried to imagine her reply, but he drew blanks. What would she say? No degree of extrapolation could bring him any closer to an answer.

"You shouldn't be here." He said quietly. "If you hadn't tried to find us…" He trailed off.

_Dead_ seemed like the last thing she could ever be. She seemed to have been the exact definition of alive.

"I'm so sorry, Serena."

"C'mon, Ed." Someone took his hand. "It's time to go."

He stood up reluctantly. Even if it had only been a tomb, it was still the closest he'd been to Serena in years.

"I miss her too," Lucy said sadly. "But we have to leave, _now_."

"I didn't think I could've ever lost her again; we were supposed to have that small wedding she wanted." He muttered as Lucy looked at the grave with wet eyes.

"Well," He said bitterly, "I've been wrong before."

"We have to go, Ed. Tirian needs us." She said softly. He followed behind grudgingly.

The sky above their heads was blood red as they returned to where Peter and the others stood waiting.

"Hurry, Tash has Tirian, Eustace and that girl!" Peter said urgently.

"What?" He asked blankly.

Peter gave him a wordless push towards where he could see a cloud of dust—no doubt from the Calormene invaders' horses—gathering.

"We're not done here yet, Ed."

* * *

_But tell me you love me, come back and haunt me_  
_Oh and I rush to the start_  
_Running in circles, chasing our tails_  
_Coming back as we are_

* * *

"Shut the door, Son of Adam." Aslan said.

Peter obediently closed the door, leaving Edmund feeling like he'd lost Narnia all over again—which of course, he had. But this time the feeling was compounded ten times over, and in his mind he could see the pristine white marble of Serena's tomb disappearing into the darkness.

"The term is over: the holidays have begun. The dream is ended: this is the morning." The Lion said to them all. "Look, behind you."

He turned around, and let out a cry of surprise that was echoed by everyone else in their party.

Narnia, just like the one they had left behind, except this was the Narnia that Edmund was used to. The lush, beautiful Narnia that had been around when he and Serena still laughed together, but this Narnia was even better.

The sun was brighter and more golden, the grass never greener. Even the mountains looked taller and more commanding.

They were standing beside a waterfall on a high hill, and below them lay a castle in the distance, small as a child's toy.

Edmund took off for it at a run. This Narnia was so beautiful, so perfect, it would only be right.

"Ed, wait!" Peter and Lucy called, chasing after him. But they weren't as tall as he was, and they hadn't ever been out at the crack of dawn running miles with the University's cross-country team, either.

He should've stopped to wave at the trees, which were dancing in welcome. Or he should have noticed all the badgers, rabbits and mice bowing to him as he passed. He didn't even give the green hills and silver rivers a second glance. The scenery whipped by, unimportant.

Edmund stopped, a few hundred feet from the castle's gates. He could hear the bustle of people inside Cair Paravel. It was like he'd never left.

But Serena hadn't even been Narnian, he suddenly remembered. She was as foreign as the Calormene invaders, and hadn't he _just_ seen her grave?

The doubt unsteadied him far more than the running. He'd been foolish to think, to even dream—

"Look in your pocket, Son of Adam." The Lion said, suddenly miraculously at his side.

Edmund did. He pulled from his left coat pocket a ring. He recognized the delicate silver band immediately. Even the rare purple diamond that he'd worked so hard to find was still perched in its silver setting. It looked as if the sky at daybreak, when it was still partly made of velvet night and partly of rosy-fingered dawn, had been swirled together into something vaguely purple. It glinted brightly, like every one of the stars Father Time had summoned to the ground was living inside.

He didn't think he'd ever see it again.

"An interesting jewel, Son of Adam, for a most interesting woman." Aslan told him. He wore an unmistakable smile—and Edmund had never even known that lions could smile.

He studied the stone again, just in case he'd been mistaken the first time. Yes. The diamond was still just the right color; and was it his imagination, or was the brilliant fire blazing in its heart even brighter than before?

Clutching the ring he'd never had a chance to ask Serena to accept; Edmund peered through the castle gates.

He knew, in a heartbeat, that she would be there.

* * *

**First of all, the song used is-of course-"The Scientist", by Coldplay. I think I cried the first time I heard it, and I really wrote this chapter with it as sort of its model. (PS: does anyone know how I can center the lyrics? FFN won't let me, and it's annoying me so much)**

**Well. That's Part I. Expect the second part of the epilogue to be coming to a computer (or where I like to read my fanfiction, an iPod) near you! It's the last chapter of this story, so I'm totally going to try to build up a HP 7 hype for it. Or not.**

**A lot of people have been speculating over what happens to Serena when the Pevensies return to England. In the original Pourquoi Moi she is turned to stone, presumably by the White Witch's powers, and comes back to life in **_**Prince Caspian**_** totally disoriented and lost. She sufficiently gets back on her feet to help Caspian rule over Narnia, though. **

**But I'm too lazy to rewrite the sequel, and I don't think a story needs to be so long anyway. So yes, I did kill Serena. Out of laziness and also because I feel like I'd rather have her die than spend the rest of her life waiting for Edmund. Because, c'mon, she would. It would've been remarkably cruel of me if I let her, I think. For one thing, even though she and Edmund planned to get married, they never got engaged officially ("I've been waiting to ask her, **_**properly**_**."). Only Lucy knew, and Ed was taking forever trying to find the perfect diamond. I feel like that would've been **_**horrible**_** for Serena. Like major abandonment issues and all that.**

**Anyway, there's my mea culpa for killing her. See you next chapter!**

**PS: I'll be editing and playing around with some of the earlier chapters in the next few months. I promise it won't be anything drastic, but there are **_**some **_**details I'd like to change. I think chapters 17 and 18 are getting a facelift, but I don't know if I want to do this after the next and penultimate chapter or between. I guess y'all can let me know.**


	32. Epilogue, Part II

**First off, I'd like to explain that I haven't responded to any reviews through the thirty-something chapters of Pourquoi Moi, so if you would leave a review for this final chapter, I will be sure to have some kind of response to you, this time. (Provided it's actually something I can reply to, of course)**

**I'm very happy to be able to finally present the last chapter of Pourquoi Moi. I've had it written up already for the last three or four years, and am glad that now it'll finally be read. It seems fitting that it ends in New York City; as a Manhattanite, I do dearly love my city. (Yes. MY city.) Houston is so very cosmopolitan, LA so brassy and fun, Chicago sleek and modern, Boston so charmingly **_**smart**_**, but New York City is still number one. I hope all of you non-New Yorkers can forgive me for my bias. **

**Thank you all for sticking with this story for so long.**

**Anyway, here it is: **_**The End**_**.**

* * *

_New York City: 1998_

Susan Pevensie, age 73, fought her way through the usual lunchtime rush. Hordes of people streamed from the air-conditioned depths of office buildings into the nearby restaurants and cafes, and they always seemed to head in her opposite direction.

They were all the same: power suits, politically correct ties and bulging briefcases. Traders chatted animatedly into cell phones as they passed efficiently from point A to point B with six dollar coffees clutched in their hands. Analysts, trained to spin pointless numbers into usable data and analyze the exact meaning of everything, picked up the most convenient sustenance they could find before absently digging in with the same gusto a lion would give to a serving of broccoli. Lawyers and their Ivy League degrees sauntered down the street with other lawyers; not so much as friends but as de facto companions.

Despite having tried for more than fifty years, Susan hadn't managed to completely deracinate the now fading image of nine graves erected side by side in the idyllic English countryside from her memory. She was more Barbara Bush than Queen Elizabeth to those who encountered her, even when she neglected to stop her prim English accent from rolling off her tongue, but what she retained of her life across the pond caused her to see what none of these harried city-dwellers did. Bums, hoboes and the homeless wandered the streets, lost not just in city gridlock but in the quagmire that was life. They're derelict faces spoke of having fallen off the back of a train long ago, and remaining static where they'd landed while the world around them moved in a blur. Though her clean, scrubbed skin and powdery white stockings suggested otherwise, Susan knew that she was more like them than any of the well-coiffed professionals making their way to where they needed to be.

Manhattan, a paradox of Susan Pevensie's own invention served as her escape as well as purgatory. A sky bluer than Susan had ever seen in London hung above imposing skyscrapers, but none of the warm sun that should have come with it ever reached her. She could live on an island twenty-two square miles in area and never smell the water surrounding it until she positioned herself so that one misstep would land her in the fetid waters of the Hudson.

She walked the streets without needing to read their names. Susan didn't _know_ the way anywhere, but muscle memory ensured that she would always arrive at the right place at the right time. She passed famous facades, chic stores and the headquarters of companies large enough to own entire continents; none of which could cause her to stop and take in the sights. It had been this way ever since she arrived in the United States and nothing short of absolute disaster could change it.

What stopped Susan Pevensie today, though, was no disaster. Elegant facades. Soaring spires. A fantasyland chateau in the middle of the Manhattan gridlock.

The library, with its never ending rows of nonfiction would have to wait.

She stepped up to its door, where a small, elegant sign was posted at eye level: "A Castle on Madison" it proudly proclaimed. "A new design by one of London's preeminent new architects houses our new modern art collection. Sponsored by Tetley and Sons, Inc."

Of course she had not noticed as it was built. Blue scaffolding was as commonplace as the blackened splats of gum on the city sidewalk. It had an ethereal, familiar quality to it, and Susan reached out eagerly for the door handle.

The inside was a quiet oasis of erudite ambiance. Lush, multilayered music (courtesy of the New York Philharmonic) spilled from hidden speakers and it was glowingly lit by soft light emanating from sconces imbedded in the minimalist wood paneling. The people inside, all uptown folk inbred with good taste and classy manners swarmed in loose groups as they regarded the paintings and sculptures. Susan walked around the gallery, pausing to examine what looked like an inset of the sky in Van Gogh's _Starry Night_.

She wandered into one of the adjacent galleries, which flaunted but one enormous canvas. It was hard to describe exactly how she knew what the subject of the painting was. She just did.

"Well, look at that." A female voice behind her murmured.

"I know," One belonging to a male replied. "I made Bruno include it, as a personal favor. Are you impressed?"

"Very." She responded. "You know, it looks just like it, especially if you look at it from this angle—"

Susan was about to turn around and agree with the speaker when a blur of blonde hair and purple jumper launched itself at her and wrapped her arms around Susan's knees.

The girl looked up and giggled, giving Susan a toothy grin. She started at the child's eyes—they spoke of grassy summer meadows and were made of the sort of blue that she had never expected to see again.

"Lucy!" Her father exclaimed.

Susan smiled, thinking of a time when the name Lucy wasn't so common.

He scurried over to retrieve both his daughter and her headband, which had fallen to the floor in Lucy's mad dash towards Susan's knees.

"I'm sorry," He apologized, pulling Lucy away from Susan and restoring the headband to its rightful spot on his daughter's head. The girl pouted, because she didn't like the headband and quite liked Susan. "My daughter, she's a little uncontrollable, when she's excited especially. Must get it from her mum." He added, so that Susan could just barely hear the remark.

"It was no trouble, none at all." She replied, slowly taking in the unmistakable British lilt in the father's speech.

Susan turned around to continue gazing at the painting. There was something that made it so obvious, something that practically screamed to her.

"The arches." She breathed.

"Yes, the arches." The father said excitedly, having overheard Susan's mutterings. "Gothic revival—more for decoration than support, but it certainly lends the illusion of height, doesn't it?"

He pointed upwards, and Susan craned her head to see.

"They're very unusual. Usually reserved for cathedrals and the like, but they create a lovely silhouette against tenth-century Spanish architecture. Picture Sainte-Chapelle combined with Alcazar of Segovia."

The vaulted ceiling seemed to extend forever, though Susan knew from being outside that the building only had about five stories. She'd seen the same arches in the building's façade, and realized that it was exactly those that had drawn her in.

She suddenly remembered those arches and that façade from somewhere else. They seemed to jolt fresh images from her aged memory.

"This reminds me of an old castle I've been in—it's gone now, or course, but the style is almost the same."

He frowned. "Yes, the New York Police Department didn't look kindly on the idea of a portcullis, or solid stone construction, so it's not quite a castle…"

"Oh, stop." Susan heard Lucy's mother say. "You're boring her."

She turned around, and looked at the mother's face for the first time. She was quite pretty, almost like Susan had been when she was young, but her face had an almost haughty expression that was softened somewhat by the smile she wore. Susan had read that many women were being chosen to head up large Fortune 500 companies these days, and she thought that the architect's wife looked to be exactly that sort of woman.

The father adjusted his wire frame glasses before speaking again. "Dear, you didn't think the idea was quite that boring when you saw the initial sketches." Lucy danced circles around him as he spoke, and he spun around trying to keep track of his daughter, looking quite silly.

She shrugged, her eyes betraying just a hint of amusement. Susan couldn't think of the word to describe their vaguely purple color nor where she'd seen them before, but she remembered always having been jealous of them.

"Thank God for zoning laws." She said. "A portcullis, _really."_

"Accuracy!"

Susan smiled, suddenly thinking of the iron-wrought gate that had once taken two minotaurs to lift and lower.

"I think the new museum is beautiful." She assured the father. "It's almost part of the collection itself."

"I told you people would love it." His wife elbowed him. "You worry too much, you really do."

He smiled in spite of himself. "I never thought Americans would have much of an appreciation for castles outside of the one in Disneyland. Imagine. I've got Cinderella to compete with."

"Disney?" Lucy's eyes widened and she stopped dancing about to ask her parents.

"Yes, we're still taking you." Her mother sighed. "If you can behave for the next half a day, at least. Your father's been dreaming up castles ever since I met him, so we don't want to spoil the moment, do we?"

Lucy simultaneously nodded and shook her head, prompting a laugh from her father, a sound that Susan found pleasantly familiar.

Her brother had wanted to build things, Susan remembered. Returning to London, where everyone else had seen rubble, he'd muttered about new edifices and facades. He had always believed in beginning anew; perhaps that was why he'd dutifully knocked on her apartment door every Sunday afternoon. She realized, far too late, that he had been giving her a chance. If there was anything Susan would regret until the day she died, it was not opening that door.

"You know, I had a brother once… "She said cautiously, a faint glimmer of hope in the back of her mind.

"Oh, I wouldn't know a thing about it." The architect replied, though he wore an impish smile the Susan could've sworn she'd seen before. "I'm an only child, you see."

* * *

**To those of you who must be wondering, my answer: ****it is and it isn't****. Make of that what you will.**

**OH. And I almost forgot: I MODIFIED CHAPTERS 17 AND 18, so they are more or less new. So after you leave a review (because of course you will), go ahead and read the new versions!**

**I don't know what I'll be doing after this, perhaps some modifications to this story, possibly another Narnia fic. (I really want to write about Susan and Shift the Ape. It's the ultimate redemptive story) I have a Bones and Percy Jackson going, so maybe I'll finish the Percy, which is like 3 years old.**


	33. Finding Narnia

I'm thinking of writing a new story, that'll kind of be a sequel to Pourquoi Moi. I felt like I should share the idea with all of you first, though, just to see if I should. So here's a summary, along with a teaser.

* * *

David Whealdon is convinced that nothing in his life is going right. His latest research advisor turned out to be a fraud (there goes six months of practically living in the lab), his dad is toeing the line between sanity and complete mental breakdown (a man can only run on espresso for so long, right?), and his mother seems to be dying (either that, or she's having an affair with some creep who likes wispy girls). And then an elderly Susan Pevensie almost runs him over—we drive on the left side of the road here in England, dammit!

Before he knows it, David is discussing philosophy with Talking Apes, defending himself against bizarre wolf-men, drinking foul dwarf-made beer, and fighting an icy witch who's returned with a vengeance.

The Shadowlands make it clear that he can't save everyone—for God's sake, can he even save himself?—but this is the last chance anyone's going to get.

Susan says that it's just one last adventure. Shift calls it redemption. Maybe it's even a romance if you look hard enough. David just wants to know when the next time he'll get to take a shower is.

* * *

I'm woken up by a splash of cold water to the face. "Are you alright, Son of Adam?"

I want to tell the voice that my father isn't some bloke named Adam. My father is named Edmund Wealdon. He's an architect. He specializes in revival architecture, or castles with plumbing, as he likes to call it.

But then I remember that, apparently, my father is not named Edmund Wealdon.

Because of that, and because everything hurts, I let out a strangled kind of moan.

The person above me puts a hand to my forehead, but it doesn't feel like a human hand. It's soft, but the skin feels leathery. I wake up hurriedly, thinking of the wolf-men that grabbed my parents and Susan.

Hovering over me is an old, wrinkled ape wearing a leather jerkin.

"I—I'm fine." Did the ape just talk? I look around, and there's nobody else in the trees.

"Let me help you up." Its voice is exactly like I'd imagined an Ape's voice to be. Smooth and deep, like the primate version of Morgan Freeman. The ape pulls me up by the upper arm, and steadies me when I stumble a little.

"Where—where am I?"

It blinks, a faint glimmer of interest in its eyes. "You are in the Shadowlands, or what used to be Narnia."

"What—_who_ are you?"

"I am Shift. The Ape." It answers. "Who are you, Son of Adam?"

"My name is David, and Adam isn't my father…I think."

It laughs. "Son of Adam is just what we call humans in this world. What are you doing here, David?"

"I don't know." It's the only statement that I'm sure is 100% accurate, at this point. "Looking for my parents, and a—a friend."

"Come." The Ape leads me through the forest, and I see that the cloudy gray sky hangs over our heads, like it's about to fall and crush us any second.

Shift sees me staring, and sighs. "Such is our existence, here in the Shadowlands. No blue skies, no clouds, no sun, no stars. Just gray during the day and pitch black in the night. "

I'm silent as I follow him. The grass and trees are green, but green like a faded calico dress. Sickly green, not _alive_ green. The air is still, and there's barely a breath of wind here.

"This could be Hell." I comment.

"Not Hell," Shift answers, letting out a deep chuckle. "Eternal Purgatory."

"Isn't that Hell?"

"There's fire everywhere, in Hell." He explains. "Here, there can barely be enough flame to cook one's dinner."

He pushes open the door to house dug into the side of a cliff and sits me down at the one piece of furniture in the room, a roughly hewn table.

"Tea?" He asks.

"No. Thanks." I reply warily. I try not to let the fact that he's an ape scare me too much.

"Where are your parents?"

"My parents?" Shift is topping in at a 10 on the creepy meter right now.

"Well, I assume you're here with them, or your father, at least."

"My father?"

"Yes." He nods enthusiastically. "You have his face—I saw King Edmund once, when he was about your age. I suppose you must somewhat resemble your mother too, but—"

"My father is an architect. He builds castles, doesn't live in them."

Shift stops.

"Oh. Dear." He says, sounding disappointed. "You don't know anything, do you?"

"I'm in college. I'm pretty sure I know plen—"

"About your _father_."

I rack my mind furiously.

"He curses a lot in traffic. Speaks English, French, bit of Latin. Can't sing for his life." I babble.

"Oh, dear, dear, dear." Shift tuts. "And you're supposed to be our best chance."

* * *

Let me know, in a review or PM, whether I should bother writing this story!


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